When The Sky Turned Gray
by dragontattoo75
Summary: Career on suspension and daughter in tow, Stiles ran back home to lick his wounds, share some long-awaited time with his handicapped father, and find peace to sort out his troubles at work. Having lost his trust in his own abilities, the last thing Stiles needed was taking on a patient who truly believed he was a werewolf. The man was clearly delusional.
1. Chapter 1

This story is finished written, and I'll post the chapters when they've been pre-read and betaed.

My friends 35nanou and BregoMellonNin have held my hand the two months it took me to write it, and their input have been invaluable for me. Karenec is not only my kind and skillful pre-reader, but has also been my go-to woman for my numerous American culture questions and English expressions. Sue273 has been so kind to beta yet another story from me. I'm very grateful for them all.

Title is from 'Bleeding Out' by Imagine Dragons.

A couple of warnings:

In the first chapter there's description of a mental breakdown which is necessary for the story. From that point on, things gets slowly better for the main character's ability to deal.  
Contains a shooting episode in chapter 8, but the minor character's death is necessary for the story, and it's not described in detail.

* * *

His father stood in the driveway waiting when they rolled down the old, familiar street, the road wet, trees naked. The man supported himself heavily on his cane, holding it tight in his grasp, his posture stiff.

Stiles swallowed down the bitterness that welled up, refusing to let negative thoughts cloud their reunion. For Talia. For his father.

"There he is!" Talia cried from the backseat, taking off her seat belt before Stiles even had a chance to park the car. She ran to her grandfather on bare feet, dark brown hair fluttering behind her back in her hurry. Stiles' heart jumped in his chest, afraid she'd make them both fall over with his father's poor balance, but the lopsided grin on his old man's face told him not to crash the car to save the two of them. He parked safely as Talia clung to her grandfather's paralysed side, face buried in his jacket.

"Shit!" Stiles muttered to himself, turning off the ignition before joining his family out in the drizzle. "Hey, Dad." He pressed his face against his father's neck, hugging him tight, patting his back, as sorrow filled Stiles' gut at his dad's silence and lack of reciprocation.

"Our drive went fine," Stiles told him, answering the question he knew his father would have asked. "The rain didn't start before we reached the _Entering Beacon Hills_ sign." He let go of his father carefully, making sure he stood on his own before going to the trunk of his car to extract their bags. "Let's hope it's not a bad omen." He grinned at his father.

Stiles started carrying their belongings inside, beckoning Talia over to get her stuff out from the backseat. He hadn't admitted it to his father, but the drive had actually been extremely tiring, exacerbated by the reasons for their journey. Stiles had tried to seem positive from the moment he picked up Talia from school and pushed his feelings as far away as possible—just to get them safely inside his childhood house. In the car he'd reinforced his daughter's interest in detective work and mysteries in an attempt to focus her thoughts on something that he knew made her excited. He promised to take her and her grandfather down to the sheriff's old workplace soon, to show her a real police station and meet some of his dad's old colleagues.

He carried their things up to his old room and came downstairs again just as his father reached the front door. Stiles closed the door behind him, helped him take off his jacket, and lastly hung up his own jacket on the peg that was his own a long time ago. His dad's old sheriff's jacket and belt still hung on the dedicated peg by the door, not a speck of dust in sight on it.

Stiles walked behind him into the kitchen, observing his father's body movements as he slowly limped towards a chair and sat down stiffly, moving his right foot forward by grasping his slacks with his left hand. When he'd placed his cane safely in the corner between the table and the wall, his father lifted his right arm up on the table with his left hand. The sheriff then set his eyes on his son.

"Uhm," he grunted, gaze steady on Stiles'.

Stiles opened his mouth to start on a short version of the day's events, something that would have to be enough for now, when Talia came running back down the stairs, interrupting.

"Dad, I'm hungry!" she exclaimed, like she'd expected food to be ready at the table already. She dragged a chair noisily over to her grandfather, looking down at the notebook lying open in front of him. "Do you want me to draw you something while dad makes us dinner?" she asked cheerfully. "I'm good with animals."

"Talia! If you help me out it'd all be done quicker," Stiles started, but stopped himself at the sight of his two living relatives hunched over the same paper, his daughter already deeply concentrating on a drawing. He sighed, opening the fridge to take stock of his options, even though he didn't expect to find much in there. Seeing the groceries, they didn't make any sense to him and all the colors floated together, one big, brown mess. It felt like he'd used up all his energy supply to get them home to Beacon Hills safely, and as if his legs suddenly felt like they couldn't carry him a foot further.

A squeeze to his shoulder made him turn to see Melissa standing beside him. Surprised, he whispered, "Hey," into her gray hair, her arms around him instantly, holding him tight, the smell of lavender in his nose.

"You're here earlier than I expected." Melissa patted his back. "Welcome home." She let him go to catch Talia rushing to her with open arms. "Hey, girl! Look how much you've grown since the last time we saw you! Nate's always been tall, but now you must be about the same height as him."

"Melissa," Talia squealed.

The woman bent down, looking properly into the girl's face. "I bet you've learned a lot at school." She poked the girl's freckled nose. "Became smart like your dad."

Talia rolled her eyes, glancing up at her father from the corner of her eye, but didn't comment. They both knew what she'd say if she'd answered the woman.

Melissa straightened up slowly, one hand supporting her lower back, and gestured to the counter where a casserole had magically turned up at the most perfect time. Stiles lifted the lid, and as sweet aromas filled his nose, his mouth began to water; He couldn't remember eating anything all day.

"I'm forever grateful to your parents for making you, Melissa." Stiles placed the dinner on the stove, lighting the gas.

Melissa laughed, grabbing Talia's hand to make her follow her upstairs. "Come, sweetie. I thought you'd like to have your own room if you're staying here for some time, so I cleaned up the old guest room for you."

Stiles turned to his father, eyebrows raised. "New room?"

The sheriff shrugged his left shoulder and gestured to the chair beside him with his gaze, his mouth turned slack to the right, silent.

Stiles sat down, and his father put the weight of his elbow on his notepad, carefully pulling off the bear drawing Talia had made, and grabbed the pen, starting to write.

It'd taken some time before his father would be done writing down what he wanted to say, and Stiles' tired mind wandered before he knew it, thoughts chaotic, neck muscles tense. His boss' face popped up immediately, as anticipated. Her fingers toying slowly with her spectacles while she gave him his death sentence; he was expected to take a long, unpaid vacation until his investigation was completed. He didn't remember much of the rest of the day until he sat with Talia in the backseat and they were on their way to his old home town. At some point he must have called Melissa to let them know they were to be expected.

"Uhm," his father grunted beside him, snapping Stiles back to the present, surprised to find himself located in his childhood kitchen.

Bewildered, he looked down at the notebook, the paper half-filled with scribblings, barely readable to most. Stiles read it without difficulty though, used to other doctors' bad handwriting after years of working in the healthcare system.

_What's happened? You look like hell. Remember, Talia needs a steady and predictable life. School._

"Shit, Dad. Do you think I'd ever forget that?" Stiles jumped up when he'd read the last line, his chair toppling over in his haste to get away from the paper. He punched the kitchen counter with his clenched fists, feeling the impact shoot up to his elbows. Breathing in deeply, he spun around.

"Look, I do a good enough job at tormenting myself right now. I can't think straight and have honestly no idea what to do. I need you to give me some space to come to terms with the situation myself first, before I can think rationally."

Stiles's father looked at him determinedly, dipping his head to the notepad.

"Yes, I saw the last bit. I'll deal with it first thing in the morning."

Stiles sighed, found a spatula in the top drawer, and stirred the casserole. He turned down the heat when hot steam hit his face, and fetched plates and utensils from the cupboard. When he'd filled Talia's plate, he sat it down at the table, filled her glass with water and went out in the hall, calling for the girls to come down to eat. He heard their laughter from the guest room.

He started on his father's plate; it needed more preparation than his daughter's, but Melissa took it from him when she came back downstairs.

"You sit, I'll fix your father's meal," she ordered.

Stiles was grateful for her presence and ability to read situations, and he told her so. She ruffled his hair when she walked past him, serving his father his mashed food, a spoon by his side and a napkin in his lap. She found one of his dad's plastic cups, filled it with juice and added thickener for him to be able to swallow the fluid without being choked, and pushed a lid on.

Talia happily munched on her dinner, and soon her plate was empty. Stiles rose to give her a second helping, and after he sat back down, he addressed them all while he pushed his own food around his plate, unable to eat anything despite the delicious smell and the empty feeling in his stomach.

"Talia and I hope to stay here for as long as my _vacation_ lasts, if that's all right, Dad?"

His father grunted his agreement.

Stiles looked to his daughter.

"Talia, tomorrow I'll go to the school to talk to the principal about enrolling you."

"Is it the same school you and Mom went to?" She talked with her mouth full of food, but Stiles got the message.

He smiled softly at her. "Yeah."

Melissa placed her hand over Talia's. "You'll be in Nate's grade, so you'll already have a friend there!" Hearing Melissa's cheerful voice, Stiles smiled at her. He could count on her for support. She always knew what to say and what to do to help out.

"That's fine," Talia said after drinking her water. "I'm not worried about that."

Melissa glanced at Stiles out of the corner of her eye. "What are you worried about, sweetie?" she asked.

Talia looked up at Melissa. "Well," she dragged out, and Stiles wondered what would come next. "I'd like to stay with Grandpa, but I'm not sure if Dad wants to."

Oh.

His daughter was sometimes too smart for her own good. He should have seen that one coming. He'd clearly not done a good enough job earlier explaining to her why they were going to Beacon Hills, with the haste he'd been in, and overwhelmed by his own feelings.

He grabbed Talia's hand, to get her attention, making sure she looked him in the eyes and saw his sincerity. "I like staying with Grandpa too, baby. Very much." He glanced up at his father, making sure his dad also knew he meant it, then looked back at his daughter. "What I don't like is the reason for our coming here."

She gave him her typical precocious nod before turning her attention back at her food, clearly done with dealing with him at the moment. Stiles rose, rinsed his dish, and placed it in the washer.

"I'm going to bed soon. You want me to tuck you in for the night, Talia?" He reached his hand out to her.

She shook her head, her long hair falling in her food. Melissa stroked it behind Talia's ear lovingly, before looking up at Stiles. "I'll do it tonight if you want, Talia? We can read the book I showed you."

Talia smiled at her. "I'd like that."

Stiles felt desperate for some time alone and he sighed gratefully for the opportunity. He kissed his daughter's hair. "Good night then, and thank you for everything, Melissa."

"Good night," Melissa returned softly.

His father grunted his answer.

Up in the bathroom, Stiles brushed his teeth quickly and hunched over the sink to scrub his face. He refused to look in the mirror—he knew exactly what he'd see there tonight. In his profession he'd eventually learned how to hide his true feelings from showing on his face, but now, so close to a meltdown, he didn't need to see his face to know he was unable to hide it. Didn't want to see the feelings he knew his face would be showing, clearly.

He closed the door to his old room, sagging against it, but before he let the tears come, he crawled over to the bed, burying his face in his pillow, cocooning himself in his blanket. It was the only comfort he could find at the moment.

* * *

The next morning when Stiles woke up, he felt groggy like he would with a hangover. The sun shone straight on his face, mocking him with its clear, bright light. He groaned, rolling over to his back to hide from it, and when he opened his eyes, it took him a few seconds to remember he'd slept in his childhood bed.

The house was all quiet, but from outside his open window, the sound of birds chirping in the tree struck his eardrums like nails on a blackboard. He couldn't even remember opening the window last night. God! Yesterday had been one of the worst days of his life, definitely in the top five. His memories of it was clouded, making his stomach contract at the mere thought of it.

He stretched his back, heard joints crack, muscles stiff and sore. He wanted to lie there in bed all day, all week, the rest of his life, but his bladder objected, and he reluctantly sat up, the elevation making his head spin and shoulders tense further.

Minutes later Stiles dragged himself downstairs, hoping he'd find something light to eat to help get rid of the tightness in his upper stomach and queasiness. Passing the door to the living room, his feet faltered and he bent back to see Melissa lying on the sofa. As he stood there, she opened her brown eyes and stared at him, and he gave her a curt wave before moving to the kitchen. He filled the kettle with water, placed a tea bag in his cup and found a soft slice of bread. Rummaging at the back of the corner cabinet, he found their old toaster and he sighed in relief when it still worked.

He sat down with his tea just as Melissa came in, tying a bathrobe around her waist, her hair charmingly flat on one side, and soon joined him with a cup of her own. It said _Grandpa_ in swirly Talia-letters.

She smiled softly at Stiles, the wrinkles around her eyes making her beautiful. She gestured to the piece of toast Stiles bit into. Swallowing, it slid down his throat with less resistance than he'd anticipated, but he took a sip of his tea to make sure it went all the way down effortlessly.

"I had no idea your dad has a toaster."

Stiles shrugged, hating that after all the progress his father had made over the years, Stiles still felt bitterness over the fact that there wasn't a need for a toaster anymore. Everything to drink and eat in this house had to be soft and thick. Stiles resented himself for feeling like this. His father deserved a son able to focus on the good things in his dad's life, not the things he'd lost.

He cleared his voice, plucking at the burned corner of his toast. "You know as a shrink it's mandatory for me to go to therapy, right?"

Melissa nodded, looking down into her cup, waiting.

"I've had a lot of use for therapy actually."

"I can imagine so," she agreed softly.

"Yeah, I guess you can. At least I've got it for free, right?" Stiles forced a curt laugh out of his throat. It sounded like a frog croak.

"But has it helped?" Melissa always knew to ask the right questions.

Stiles ate his last piece of bread, getting it all down even if it tasted of nothing. He didn't have an answer. How would his life have been without his weekly soul searching sessions? There was no way of knowing.

"Probably," he admitted at last. "It's helped me pinpoint my issues and choose which paths to take to come to terms with them."

He turned to look at her face. She looked chirpy for being up at five in the morning. "That's what it's about. Awareness. Life throws you challenges, your job is to uncover them and find the right way to attack."

Melissa grabbed his hand, urging. "And that takes time. There's no rule for how long it's going to take. The pace is always individual. And some things are impossible to get over, it's the way you view them that changes."

He knew all this, but being reminded felt good. Stiles lay his free hand on top of their connected ones, sighing. Bracing himself. "I called you yesterday, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did. You weren't completely coherent, but I got the impression that something bad happened at your work, and you two were coming to stay for a while."

She didn't supplement, but gave him time to find the right words. That took some time, since it was still chaos up in Stiles' mind, fear cluttering it.

"That's the basics, yeah. I don't know how long we'll stay, but it will definitely take months, might even be a full year."

Melissa patted his hand, her skin was thinner and lighter than his.

"Your father will be very happy to hear this."

Stiles whipped his head up to her face, anger flaring up in his chest and spewing out his mouth without control. "Happy to hear I screwed up? Happy I might have been responsible for another person's murder?" He shot up, chair bouncing to the floor as he started pacing back and forth between the counter and the table, wringing his hands tightly.

"I have no idea what to think! What to do! How to feel! It's all such a fucking, stupid mess and there's no way out of it. I'll lose my job, my doctor's license, my colleagues, my references. . . any future with a job that pays well enough for me to handle my loans. We'll lose our apartment, insurances, and the college fund I've set up for Talia will be thrown away. I'm so fucking alone and I hate life!" His legs collapsed under him, making him sink down on the floor, ending up curled in a fetal position, his wrist hurting from bracing himself from the impact of the fall.

Melissa sat down beside him, stroking his hair, carding her fingers through his strands. Stiles, a grown up man, a father, and psychiatrist used to helping others in desperate need, laid on the linoleum floor in his father's kitchen, sobbing until there were no more tears left.

Eventually, his breath came in shallow hiccups, the sleeve of his hoodie was covered in snot and his head was pounding. Melissa still had her fingers on his scalp and in a way it calmed him down, knowing he had someone beside him, keeping him in the present.

"Sweetie, there'll be two humans waking up soon in this house. They might not be as fragile as they might look, but I think you should go take a shower and get dressed fully. Use up all the hot water if you need to. But when you're done in the bathroom, and you take the first step out of it, you're going to start dealing. I'm here, your father is here and your perfect daughter. No situation is too hard for you to handle, one step at the time. I have faith in you."

Stiles felt her hand slip away, heard her get up, and even if he didn't believe in himself right now, there was someone who did, someone he trusted with his life. He could get up from this floor, even if it was for her only.

As he slowly sat up, shaky and head pounding, Melissa rummaged in the upper cupboard, taking out a locked box. She turned to Stiles, holding out one hand with two painkillers in it and the other with a glass of water. All right. He could reach out his arms, take the items from her and swallow the meds down. He could, because she knew he could do it.

If he mastered that simple action, he'd also be able to take the shower she ordered him to take; she had decided he needed one, and that meant he did. Up on his knees, he put his weight on the chair and rose to his feet. There was nothing more to it.

* * *

He did indeed use up all the hot water. Perhaps the water tank had started to give in, because he felt like no time had passed from when he'd started soaping himself up to the water started cooling. Drying his body still standing in the shower, he gripped the handle that'd been bolted to the wall after his father had come home from the hospital years ago, half of his body partially paralyzed.

Dressing himself, the throbbing in his head started to ease a little, and when was finished, he grabbed his bag and took out his laptop before remembering that the house didn't have internet. He sighed, opening the drawers in the desk and found an old notebook with his chicken scratches in it and a pen with flowing ink. One of the things his experience told him worked for him when he felt overwhelmed was making lists. Getting everything down on paper, it became easier to acknowledge the problems and looking for paths to the solution, and identify the steps to get there.

At work, planning, making decisions, and recognizing the whole picture had always been one of his skills. He was famous for handling pressure at the hospital, being able to keep his head clear and having an answer or action at hand in time of crisis, and there were a lot of those. He was a master of delegating tasks and shouting orders—his colleagues had nicknamed him capt'n. Yet, in his private life, dealing with the issues concerning his own person, he found it to be opposite and harder the more serious it became.

Eventually he sat back and scanned the page in his hand. The pen was bitten to pieces already while he thought, considered numbering the points, making them steps to achieve . . . Achieve what? What was his ultimate goal? For him and Talia to be happy, was way too broad: happiness was in the moment. How about getting back his job?

Stiles looked out of the window. Would he be able to work in the same hospital, even if the best thing happened—that he got his job back? Would he have been classically conditioned to get sick to his stomach just by walking into the corridor there? Smelling the familiar scents used to make him happy before this event. Would it trigger the bad memory if he came there again?

He sighed, curling the sheet into a ball and throwing it to the paper basket. He missed. Story of his life.

He stood up, picked up the paper and smoothed out the wrinkles, and stuffed it into a random book on the shelf. He locked the door firmly behind him and went downstairs, stopping by the living room where his father and Talia sat on the couch watching SpongeBob.

"Hey, Dad," Talia said cheerfully, her hand resting in her grandfather's lap, their fingers entwined. Stiles sat down heavily in the armchair on the other side of the coffee table.

"So," he started, considering how much to reveal in front of his daughter when the situation was so chaotic. He quickly decided to address them both at Talia's level. "You know the patients I work with at the hospital are sick, right?"

Talia looked over at him, rolling her eyes. "That's the whole point of being at in the hospital, Dad."

"Yeah, it is," Stiles agreed. His daughter's attention went back to the cartoon.

"I see a lot of patients every day, and even if I always try to do my best with each one, I screw up from time to time. Because I'm merely a human being."

Talia obviously found his speech old news, her eyebrows rising to her hairline. Stiles wondered who she got that from. Not from him or her mother, at least.

He sighed. "Yeah, I know you frequently see me screwing up, Talia. Can you please be gentle with me while I try to tell you both something important?"

His daughter huffed. "Then say it already."

He took a deep breath. "Yesterday my boss told me one of the patients I'd sent home the day before because I believed he was well enough for it, wasn't after all. I made a mistake and discharged him when he should have stayed at the hospital longer."

His father's eyes sought out Stiles', his right eyebrow frowning. He wanted more specifics. Stiles shot him a glare, pointedly jerking his head to his daughter who was still facing the TV.

"My boss told me she needed some time to think about what we should do about my mistake, how to fix it, and meanwhile I thought it would be a good thing for the three of us to spend some time together. It's so rare that we have more than a few days with each other."

His father grunted in agreement.

This was probably the best place to stop his explanation, and let Talia herself come to him when she had questions or opinions to express. She always did.

"All right." He smacked his thighs, getting up. "I'll head over to school now to talk to the principal about you transferring here for a while, Talia." He looked to his father. "Melissa's gone home?"

His father gave him his weak nod, mostly it was his eye blinking.

"She'll be back later, right?" Stiles wasn't ready to face reality without her yet.

His father blinked.

"Okay, I'll go now. You let Talia call me if anything comes up, right?"

His father grunted.

Stiles put on his jacket, made sure he had his cell phone and keys with him before he went outside. For a few minutes, he sat in the car without turning the ignition, thinking. Making his list earlier, he'd realized a couple of things needed his immediate attention. He'd do as Melissa told him. It was time to get the ball rolling.

* * *

The trip to his old school turned out to be easy; Talia was welcome there the next day. Stiles' next stop would be harder.

He parked at the hospital parking lot. Trying to brace himself, he repeatedly whispered as he went inside the building that it wasn't a big deal, he'd meet a friend, someone wanting his best. He had lost her phone number a long time ago, but hopefully she was at work today. These days, they spoke mostly on Facebook chat.

"Sir? Are you all right?"

The receptionist assessed him with a worried face.

"I'm sorry. Yes. I was looking for Dr. Martin, please?"

The woman turned to her computer, clicking on a few things. "I'll page her for you." She gestured to a group of chairs by the door, the table overflowing with magazines. "Please sit."

Stiles sat down, fidgeting, ignoring the glossy model faces and articles with the latest news on celebrities' drug problems. He was biting at his thumbnail when Lydia came to the reception area.

"Stiles? What are you doing here?"

He jumped up, walking over to return her hug. She smelled of flower shampoo, and her stomach was round between them.

"Congratulations!" Stiles tried to smile, gesturing to her belly.

"Thank you," she gracefully accepted, steering him back the way she came from. "We'll go to my office to have a chat." She waved at the receptionist. "Thanks, Heather."

Stiles sighed in relief.

In her office, Lydia pushed him into a chair and thrust a coffee mug in his hand with the hospital logo on it. He blew on the hot liquid, watching her over the cup.

"You look well," he acknowledged. "Content?"

She sat down gracefully, crossing her legs. Her shoes were glossy red with a black underside. Wearing her trademark high heels at any cost.

Her lips were just as red as her shoes, Stiles noticed as she opened her mouth.

"What's the matter?"

Ah. Straight to business.

It suited him fine.

"I'm in trouble."

"Okay. More specific, please?"

"I've screwed up at work and I need your help."

"All right," she agreed immediately, opened a notebook and started writing. "Tell me all about it."

Stiles' cup was empty before he knew it. Coming back to reality, he dried his eyes.

"I see," Lydia dragged, scribbled some more and underlined a few sentences effectively. Then she put her pen down and turned to her laptop. A few commands and one post-it note was pressed into Stiles' hand. Two phone numbers.

_Mr. Mahealani, cognitive therapist._

_Mr. Whittemore, lawyer._

He glanced up to her, questioningly.

"Well?" Lydia drummed her fingers on her desk impatiently. "You obviously need someone to talk to, and a lawyer to defend you. An attorney at your side with your interests at heart."

Stiles looked down at the curled note in his hand. "Okay. I had actually thought about contacting my union."

Her smile dazzled him. "Excellent idea. Do that as well. Today!" She twirled her desk chair. "These contacts don't exclude the other. They're all equally necessary." She hit her small fist to her desk. "You need to fight back!"

Stiles felt faint. This was the proof. He was in deep shit.

"Hey!" Lydia looked at him sharply. "You don't actually think you've done anything wrong, do you?"

Her question made Stiles jerk back in shock.

"Stiles! What's the matter with you!" She scolded, leaning over the desk as much as her pregnant belly allowed. "This. Is. Not. Your. Fault!"

She got up now, and went over to him, beckoning him to rise. She placed her manicured hands on his shoulders, looking him straight in the eye. "You listen to me, mister. You aren't responsible for the man's actions. The patient you believed was well enough to get discharged, having made no threats of any kind, either to kill himself or anyone else, is the one responsible. From what you've told me, you had no way of knowing what he was going to do, and it might not even have been a _planned_ action on his part."

"No, but he was clearly not well enough to go home," Stiles sniffed.

"You followed the hospitals' procedures on this case as you do on any other case of yours. We can't be responsible for any action our patients do after they're out of our hands. You couldn't have prevented this."

"But it was such a stressful day, Lydia," Stiles whined. "The ward was at the brink of its absolute limit. I got phone call after phone call about new patients in the ER waiting for a free spot, and I had to send someone out." He ripped his hair at the roots. "What if I overlooked a sign from him? What if he was trying to tell me about his intentions too subtly for me to tell?"

"For all we know, he could have done this at the spur of the moment. He hadn't made any threats before. This is how it is, Stiles. We make tough decisions every day. We deal with life and death."

"Usually not death on my ward." He smiled grimly. "Well, if they don't find a way to hang themselves on the door handle, swallow a fork they've managed to smuggle with them, or jump out of a window that's supposedly impossible to open."

"Semantics. You're a doctor first and foremost—you've worked your way through the system—and you're a psychiatrist second. We doctors need to know how to deal with the consequences of our decisions. We learn that from day one." She pushed him down in his seat again. Gave him a glass of water.

"Now, drink this up and we'll talk about something else. Then, the minute you sit down in your car, you call these two phone numbers, and the second you get home you call your union. Clear?"

Stiles dipped his head faintly as he sat the empty glass on her desk. She immediately snatched it up, dried the wet spot on the wood and placed the glass at the sink beside her instead.

"Will you stay here as long as you're on suspension?"

He swallowed hard. Suspension. "Yeah." His voice trembled. "It'll be good for Talia, Dad and me to spend time together."

She nodded thoughtfully, twirling a lock of her red hair between her fingers. "I suppose it's a good thing for you to get a change of scenery as well."

Stiles looked down at his shoes. He hoped he'd have enough energy to make the three phone calls later.

"Now!" her voice whipped, taking Stiles' attention effectively. "I want _you_ to help _me_."

He gaped at her. How was he supposed to find the strength to help others when he didn't know how to help himself?

"Don't look at me like that!" she scolded, drumming her nails on her desk. "I know of a man who refuses to become a patient. And you are just the right person to make sure he isn't forced to be."

"What?"

"He refuses to talk to me. God knows why . . ." She sighed deeply as she scribbled on a new post-it note.

"Look, Lydia," Stiles started, reading the address she gave him. He needed to work on his own demons and if he ever got back his trust in his abilities as a psychiatrist, it was up in the air if the license board would agree with him.

Lydia held up her hand, stopping him effectively. "He refuses to have any contact with the health system at all, and I'm not asking you to, you know, psychoanalyse him or work your . . ." she flapped her hand vaguely in the air, "magic. Check up on him, see if you pick up on any signals."

Stiles sighed. "So how can you possibly know he's not well?"

"His uncle is in a permanent vegetative state in my ward. A few months ago one of my nurses overheard him talk to his uncle. He hasn't showed up here since."

"And?"

Lydia placed her hands on her desk, staring him in the eyes. "He believes he's a werewolf."

* * *

**Thank you for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles' head swam with information. Too many thoughts wanted his attention at once, and he didn't have the needed capacity for them. At all.

He'd made the three phone calls right away, and then he'd driven home to his father's house and collapsed into bed. Looking up at the ceiling, he tried to center himself and ignore the countless spiders up there, and they soon became a blurry mass as his thoughts took all his attention.

Werewolf.

Ha.

Well, why the hell not. It wasn't like it was something he'd never heard before, or at least things similar to it. People could believe they were just about anything, in his experience. No limits to the human brain when it was given free rein and stopped being constricted by a set of rules. He'd stopped being surprised years back.

Stiles whispered the word to himself._ Werewolf._

What kind of person was this man? Did he live inside his house? Wear clothes? Eat his beef raw? Hunt _rabbits_ while howling at the full moon?

Stiles turned to his left side, the position he preferred for sleeping. He closed his eyes, welcoming sleep to sort his thoughts, clear out what was important—right now.

He had to admit that what he hadn't thought was possible, had actually happened at Lydia's office. Something had caught his interest. Something to take his mind off his own troubles, if only for a short while.

* * *

Stiles slept most of the afternoon away, and spent the evening with his daughter and father, socializing. Melissa came over with another casserole at some point. He'd forgotten to go grocery shopping, and was grateful to her for feeding them. They all ended up sitting in the living room watching a movie afterwards._ Charlie and the Chocolate Factory._

Eventually Stiles noticed it was time for Talia to go to bed. She lay on the sofa with her head in Melissa's lap, the woman's fingers combing her hair as her eyelids grew heavy. He carried his child up to the bathroom where he helped her get ready for bed. She yawned all through the teeth brushing, which made it difficult to get to her back teeth. He read the start of a chapter from _Matilda_, continuing where they'd left off a couple of days earlier when they were in their apartment in Berkeley. Like so many times before, he fell asleep beside her, waking up in the middle of the night, muscles uncomfortably stiff from staying in the same position for too long.

The next morning, he drove Talia to school. He followed her inside to the office, where the principal's secretary greeted them and showed them the way to Talia's classroom. Stiles and Talia had left home a few minutes earlier than necessary, but when the secretary opened the door, a woman was already sitting by the desk, papers in her hand. She was beautiful with long, gray hair arranged in a bun and Talia's gaze on her was admiring.

The teacher bent down to greet Talia, her smile wrinkling her face. "Hi! You must be Talia? I'm your teacher, Ms. Blake."

Talia placed her hand in Ms. Blake's, grinning at her. "Hi!"

Ms. Blake straightened up and shook Stiles' hand too, before she turned to the classroom, talking to Talia. "You're a little early today and that's good, because then I get to show you your desk and give you your books before your classmates arrive. They're a lively gang!"

Talia followed after her, waving at Stiles as she walked away, unconcerned. Stiles' stomach though, was in knots. He hated himself for ripping Talia from her roots and the reasons for the necessity of it.

The secretary was still beside him when he closed the classroom door behind his daughter, and she patted his back comfortably.

"It's always hardest for the parents, Dr. Stilinski. You don't have to worry; Ms. Blake's an excellent teacher. She's been with us for years and years."

Stiles followed the secretary back the same way they'd come in, thanked her before returning to his car, and started driving. He needed to move on.

Fifteen minutes later, he made a turn away from the main road, onto a dirt road surrounded by forest. It became darker and darker as the trees came closer and closer until he ended up in an open space, sky above.

He parked the car there, and climbed out slowly, taking in the courtyard and the large wooden house.

He'd been here before, Stiles realized now, many, many years ago. The house had looked very different back then. Less wood, more coal. Just a chimney and a few residues of a huge fire. He seemed to recall something about a girl showing up in two pieces in the woods. His dad, the sheriff, had been working on the case, and Stiles had thought it was a good idea to drag Scott with him to try to solve the whole mystery for his old man.

They had been wandering around the forest when this guy found them, a man really. The night was dark, but Stiles remembered him looking like some kind of god, or more like a devil in disguise. His dad had caught them, and Stiles blamed the Greek god for distracting him from hiding, and, as far as Stiles knew, the case was unresolved, and he never saw the man again.

After that night, the friendship with Scott started crumbling. His old best friend started to push Stiles out of his life.

Stiles didn't want to do any sneaking around today. Last time he saw the house had to have been about twenty years ago, and even though he knew his daughter and his father disagreed, Stiles wasn't as stupid as he'd been back then.

He knocked on the door, the wood under his feet creaking as he shifted his weight from foot to foot. He didn't have a plan for how he was going to approach this man, but he'd play it by ear. It usually worked for him.

No one came to open the door.

Stiles knocked again, but nothing happened. It was a big house, a family home, yet it had no nameplate by the door, no bikes or footballs lying around. All was neat and tidy. He circled the house, tried looking in through the windows on the first floor by standing on his toes, but there was no one to be seen. Lydia's note was still crammed in his jean pocket, and he fished it out again to check the address. It told him he was at the right place for his werewolf man.

Well, it wasn't like he was in any hurry to talk to this guy. Stiles would be staying for months; he'd check up on him at some other point.

He got back in his car and drove to the grocery store where he bought a cart full of essentials. His father's kitchen was pretty much empty since Melissa was the one making all his food, often at her home before she brought it over. Stiles planned on taking over some of her responsibilities for as long as he and Talia were staying.

He didn't have a plan for what he was going to fill the rest of the days with yet. Up until now, it'd felt like all he could do was take one day at a time, or hour, and sometimes minutes. Today he actually felt a small fraction lighter, and Stiles thought it could be a good idea to find something to occupy himself with for a while; a hands-on project to keep his mind busy.

He turned his car into the parking lot of a store he accidentally stumbled upon, looking at the building through his window. _Hale's Hardware_.

It had a nice ring to it.

Stiles slipped out of his seat belt, and was about to open the door handle, when a man pushed the front door of the store open with his hip and came out carrying paint cans and several bags. A woman teetered behind him in her high heels, carrying her fancy handbag in the crease of her elbow. The length of her nails told Stiles that she was not going to be the one doing the paint job.

Stiles smiled to himself, letting them pass his car before he finally opened his own door and went inside the store to take a look around. He supposed the space would be any person's wet dream. Well, anyone with a smidge of free time in his earlier life and not with his head nerdily buried in first books, then, sick people.

Stiles had no idea about most of these thing's names, or what their purpose was, well . . .

A t-shirt-clad hard chest with HH written on it, stood in his way, but when he tried to pass it, the muscular extension of the chest grabbed Stiles' upper arm.

"Hey, I said: Do you need help?"

Stiles jerked out of his own thoughts, and was met by piercing hazel eyes and a sharp jaw covered in dark stubble. He felt something swoop low in his stomach before he hurriedly snapped his mouth shut, shaking his head. "Sorry, I have no idea what to look for." He felt stupid.

The man's eyes seemed to sparkle, causing Stiles' breath to catch in his throat. "Paint, perhaps?" Stiles heard laughter in the man's voice as he threw out his arm, gesturing to the shelf filled with cans in different sizes right behind Stiles.

"Ah." Stiles felt his cheeks heat, and turned his face away to hide it. "Yeah, okay. I could look at some paint, I guess. Do you have anything to recommend?"

"I sure do." The man grinned showing, white, straight teeth. "What are you going to paint?"

"Uhm." Stiles squirmed. He shouldn't have come in here unprepared. He must seem like he'd lived under a rock. And what a man to give that impression to. Typical.

The man stared at him for a second. "Indoors or outdoors?"

Stiles tapped his lip while thinking. "I can't remember the last time the house was painted." How often were houses supposed to be painted anyway? Every year? After fifty years?

"All right," the man said with finality, like that settled it. Stiles felt like he'd been grasping for straws, and out of sheer luck, picked the right one. He felt oddly pleased with himself.

He followed the clerk over to the shelf with paint cans where the man bent to pick up one. Stiles snapped his gaze away from the man and over to the cans, to prevent himself from ogling. The shop probably had a policy on having their clerks wear pants like that, to make the customers leave their brains outside the shop sign. "This one's a little more expensive," the clerk was saying, "but it'll last for about ten years. Seems that's the type you should be looking for."

"Yes, very wise." Stiles agreed immediately. He'd agree to _anything._

"How big is your house?"

"Uhm."

The man shook his head. "No idea, right?"

Stiles smiled sheepishly. "It's two floors, with three small bedrooms?"

"Okay." The man nodded slowly. "You shouldn't buy too much. You can always come back if you need more." He turned to the colors sheets. "What color is your house?" He eyed Stiles. "Do you have any idea?"

"Yellow!" Stiles grinned. That he knew.

The man looked like he was having trouble not rolling his eyes as he grabbed the color maps for yellow. "See anything resembling it?"

Stiles considered them closely before deciding. "I think . . . that one."

The man went to grab a can, put it inside a machine, pressed a few commands on a computer. Stiles bent down to the small window to have a look when the machine started. Fascinating.

"I guess so," the man chuckled. Stiles must have said it out loud. He straightened up as the clerk gestured to a shelf with brushes. "I assume you don't have any?"

Stiles shook his head. "No. If I have, they're probably too old."

The man picked up a few. And some cans of _stuff._

"When do I use the different types?"

This time the man rolled his eyes.

"Hey!" Stiles started to defend himself. It had been twenty years since he'd painted the house with his dad, and then his dad had done all the shopping and deciding, while Stiles followed orders.

The man held up his palms, stopping Stiles. "I'm not judging."

Stiles scowled. He totally was.

The man sighed, defeated. "Look. Just give me your address and I'll come over later."

Stiles grinned widely. The man blinked.

"That would be great! Thanks!"

He turned his back to Stiles, finding a piece of paper on the desk. "Why don't you write down your address and I'll come over after five, all right?"

"Excellent!"

Stiles left the store, following after the man who was carrying two of the heavy cans for him, while Stiles held a heavy bag in each hand himself. He absolutely did not teeter like a woman on high heels, but shambled in his well-worn Palladiums.

* * *

Stiles picked up Talia after school, and she immediately inquired after their visit to the police station, and promptly told him Nate would come with them too. He'd show them around since he'd practically grown up there.

"Hey, girl." Stiles leaned in to kiss her cheek. She smelled like cheap hand wash. Well, at least she _had_ used soap today.

"So?"

"Huh?" Stiles stared at her confused. His brain was probably still outside the hardware store.

"When can we go to the station?" She buckled up her seat belt, flipping her hair over it.

Stiles started the car, turning out on the road, into the traffic. "I'm not sure yet. I need to call and ask."

His daughter nodded. "I want us to go when there are thieves there."

"We can't go to the holding cells, baby. But we can speak to the policemen."

"And policewomen."

"And women." Stiles smiled. "So how was your day?"

"Fine." Talia sat staring out of the window. "Dad? Can you get me a bike? There isn't as much traffic here as back home, and lots of kids were riding their bikes today."

Stiles agreed immediately. "I used to ride my bike until I could drive."

Talia turned to him. "So can I?"

"I'll see if I can find any used ones. Perhaps we can paint it?"

"Yes!" Talia grinned, then declared, "I want it black with orange flames."

Stiles didn't blink at that. He was used to having a daughter with her own opinions. She'd been like that since she was born, and even if she made it difficult for her father, that was his problem, and not hers.

Back home, he told Talia to do her homework at the kitchen table while he cooked dinner. His dad sat in the living room listening to the news on the radio.

After they'd finished eating, he cleaned up the kitchen, and when he was done, told Talia to change into an old shirt he'd found in his father's closet and meet him outside. Stiles studied the boards on the house. His father couldn't remember either when it'd last been painted, but it was a few years before he was shot. He'd seemed happy when Stiles told him that he was going to do it now, and wrote that he'd pay for the costs.

Stiles found an old, faltering garden table in the garage, and when Talia came out of the house, she helped carry it to the east wall, the side that seemed to be the most worse for wear. Stiles inspected the house more closely, and as he peeled off a loose piece of paint, he heard a truck in their front yard.

"That'd be the hardware store guy." While Stiles walked towards the corner of the house to greet the man, he asked Talia, "Can you please empty the bags up on the table while I show him the way?"

Talia efficiently pulled her messy hair in a ponytail. "Sure."

Stiles rounded the corner, hand up in greeting, but faltered in his tracks. The guy was standing with his back to him, bent over his toolbox at the back of his truck, his jeans hugging his behind in a most . . . Stiles coughed, and the man turned.

"Hey!" he said, lifting the toolbox out like it weighed nothing, and approached Stiles. "You're the older sheriff's son."

Stiles dried his dirty hand on his shorts before reaching it out. The man grabbed it. He had a dry and callused grip.

Stiles cleared his throat. "Yes, I'm Stiles."

"Derek."

Stiles frowned, looking up and down the man. Derek. "Have I met you before somewhere?"

"Everyone knows Sheriff Stilinski's house."

Stiles let go of the man's hand. "Ah! Yes, of course," he said. Everyone in town knew to slow down on the road where the sheriff lived. He gestured to the tool box, grinning. "You planning on doing some work while you're here?" he asked, showing him to the back of the house, to Talia. Derek followed him.

They rounded the corner. Talia had taken the brushes and bottles out of the bags. She was circling the smallest brush over her cheeks absentmindedly, with a faraway stare.

Stiles ruffled her hair. "Thanks, sweetie," he said, turning to Derek. "So, what do I do?"

Derek still stood at the corner, the toolbox on the grass by his feet, face ashen, mouth slack. Stiles rushed over to grab his arm. "Hey Derek! Are you all right?"

Derek turned his face to him, dumbfounded. "Huh?"

"Are you all right? Do you have any conditions I need to know about?"

Derek shook his head, clearing his throat loudly. "No, I'm fine. Sorry." He picked up the box again and went over to the table where he set it down.

Stiles followed him. "Derek, this is Talia." His daughter looked up at the man with her intense hazel eyes. Derek gripped the table.

"You sure you're all right, man?" Stiles started to get concerned about the clerk. Was he stable? "Talia, can you please run inside and get some water for Derek?"

Derek shook his head. "No, no, it's not necessary. I'm fine." He flexed his fingers in front of him. Talia was already on her way inside. Derek glanced over at Stiles. "She's your daughter?"

"Yeah, she is."

"Where's your wife?"

Stiles stared at the man. Why in the world would he ask about that? "If you mean Talia's mother, she's not here." It felt like a too personal question from a man he'd only just met.

Derek seemed to get a grip on himself, sighing. "I'm sorry, it's none of my business." He went over to the wall, plucking at the loose paint flakes, then circled the house, pushing at planks and ripping off a huge bit, scaring Stiles.

"Hey! Don't ruin my walls!"

Derek laughed. "You have rotten planks. They're already ruined."

"Rotten planks? Oh, no!" Stiles went to stand beside Derek. This didn't sound good. His father's house had gangrene.

"See." Derek showed him. "Press your finger here."

Stiles did. It was like touching sponge. "Fuck!"

"Here's the water," Talia chirped from behind them.

Derek thanked her and swallowed it all down, even if he didn't look like he had a low blood pressure anymore.

Stiles took in the house with a new set of eyes. "So what does it mean? What do I do?" The house needed an operation. He knew that much.

Derek sat the empty glass on the table while watching Talia with a frown. Eventually he turned to Stiles, surprising him. "I'll help you."

Stiles gaped. "I can't ask that of you! I don't have the kind of money to pay you."

"Well, you're not asking me. I'm offering." Derek bent over his toolbox, took out a notebook and while inspecting the house, scribbled on it with the pencil he'd fished out from his shirt pocket. Stiles followed after him, observing the walls as the other man did, like he was a medicine student in training, but an inadequate one, having no idea what symptoms to search for. Thinking in terms familiar to him, boards with gangrene were already dead, they needed to be amputated to stop it from spreading. He bumped into Derek's back when the other man stopped.

"Sorry."

"You have a ladder?"

"I suppose so." Stiles went to the garage to look—the ladder was full of rust—and he went outside again. "I need to buy a new one," he finally told Derek, who now had a sheet full of scribblings in his notebook.

"What are your plans for tomorrow?" Derek seemed to be done already. As far as Stiles knew, they hadn't accomplished a thing.

"I have no idea," Stiles sighed before he remembered. "Oh, yes, I have one thing planned for the upcoming days; to look for a bike for Talia. She wants a black one with orange flames."

Talia played with the old tree swing. The branch swayed, forcing the stubbornest of the winter apples to finally relent and fall to the ground.

Derek's gaze followed Stiles'. "When does her school start?"

"At 8.30."

"Okay." Derek grabbed his toolbox. "I'll be here at 9:00."

"But you have to work!"

Derek walked to his truck. Stiles followed. As he slammed the trunk, Derek said, "No, I don't."

"But ..." Stiles followed as Derek opened the car door. "I don't get it!"

Derek started the ignition. "What's not to get? I'll be here at nine. You make coffee." Then he drove away.

What an infuriating man!

Even if he offered to help.

Without wanting money for it.

Eh.

* * *

The next morning, Derek was already in the driveway when Stiles returned from driving Talia to school. The sky was clear, perfect to work outdoors.

Stiles went over and helped Derek carry the shiny, new ladder which stood by the truck. They rounded the corner and Stiles stopped, pulling Derek back with him by the ladder. While Stiles had driven Talia to school, it seemed like Derek had been busy. On a tarp was a large stack of planks. A scary looking machine stood under the open garage door.

"How the hell did you manage this?" Stiles gestured to the stack.

"What do you think?"

"I have no idea."

"I had help."

"Oh." Simple as that.

Stiles looked it over. Planks were expensive, right? "I'll need the bill for this."

Derek sat the ladder up. "Sure."

Stiles still worried. "But you know we can't afford to pay you, right? Only for the materials."

"Yes, you made that clear yesterday."

Okay, Stiles wouldn't push anymore, just be grateful for the help. "I'll go get us the coffee, then."

* * *

Stiles' arms felt like jello when he put the scraper down. His hands were full of old paint dust, and he chuckled when he looked up and noticed Derek even had some on his cheek.

They had worked all morning, and it soon had become obvious Derek knew what he was doing. Stiles did not. His whole body ached when he sat down on the stack of planks. "Shit, I need a break. I'm not used to working like this."

So far, he had successfully managed to keep their talking to neutral subjects, like the weather and sports (Go Mets!). He bit his tongue after his last comment, which could open dangerous questions—things he didn't want to think about. Derek kept silent, though. When Stiles thought about it, he realized Derek wasn't much of a talker. It had mostly been Stiles running his mouth.

Derek dried his hands on a rag. "I need to go into work soon."

Stiles got up, making his quadriceps scream. "Sure, sure! You've been awesome helping me like this."

Derek tilted his head back, inspecting their work. "You try to finish scraping this wall today."

Stiles followed his gaze up, sighing. Crap. All he wanted was a long, warm shower. And some lunch, preferably followed by a nap.

Derek shot him a glance. "It's a lot of work when you don't maintain your house regularly."

Stiles laughed. "Yeah, I can tell." He refused to think about the reasons for the mistreatment of the house. "Luckily, I have a lot of time for it now."

Derek threw the rag away. "I'll come tomorrow at the same time."

"You will?" Stiles stared at him, shocked, before hastily adding, "I mean, awesome! Thanks!" He wasn't above accepting free help, whatever Derek's reasons were.

That night, Stiles fell asleep as usual beside Talia. When he woke up in the early morning, his arm and back muscles were aching in ways he'd never felt before, but his mind felt rested for the first time in days.

At home, after driving Talia to school, he parked beside Derek's car. Rounding the corner, he was met by Derek standing at the top of the ladder, whistling while he handled the paintbrush in well-practiced moves.

"Hey," Stiles called.

Derek turned his head, raising his chin in greeting, continuing his whistling.

They worked side by side all day. Stiles made them lunch, which they ate inside with the old sheriff.

Derek seemed to be comfortable around Stiles' father.

Swallowing his omelet, Stiles asked them, "Do you two know each other?"

Derek glanced over at the older man, set his glass down. "Sort of," he admitted, but didn't elaborate.

His father grunted though, and pointed his fork to the wall.

Stiles pushed the notebook to him. "Write it down?"

His father fixed his gaze on Derek.

"You mean the cane, Sheriff?"

The older man grunted.

"I made it," Derek told Stiles.

Surprised, Stiles stood up and took the cane from its place between the table and the wall into his hands. He'd never inspected the cane his father had gotten sometime after he was able to start using one. Stiles couldn't remember if he'd ever held the cane in his hands or how long his father actually had owned it.

From under the handle, the dark wood was decorated from top to bottom with carvings. It could resemble a forest with animals here and there, symbols or intricate patterns. It was a piece of art, even Stiles' untrained eyes could see that.

Stiles sat down with it, his voice awed. "This is beautiful." Looking up, Derek was watching him intently with his hazel gaze.

Stiles followed the patterns with his fingers. "Does it mean something?"

His father grunted, pushing his notebook. _Preserve_

Stiles could see it now. The preserve. Of course. Then gasped. "You made this for him."

"Yes."

"With my father in mind."

"Yes."

It surprised him that Derek had known to make a cane inspired by the preserve—the area the sheriff had worked in and loved all his life.

Stiles placed it carefully back in its place before sitting back down to finish his lunch.

They were soon out again, replacing rotten boards with new ones, working as a team; Stiles held the plank in place while Derek swung the hammer.

Derek took a nail out of his mouth, placing it at the right spot on the board. "Did Talia inherit her eye color from her mother?"

Stiles rattled the plank just as Derek hit the nail.

"Steady!" Derek barked.

Stiles hurried to make it horizontal. "Why?"

Derek looked like he'd shrug if he could. He hit the nail in, his arm and back muscles knowing precisely what they were doing. Flawless.

"You have brown. Isn't it unusual for a brown-eyed parent to get a hazel-eyed kid?"

"No, not really."

Now Derek shrugged and lifted up the next board effortlessly.

Stiles eventually had to stop when it was time to go pick up Talia. "You didn't have work today?"

"Nope." Derek picked up his water bottle, draining it.

Derek left his stuff by the house when he went home for the day.

* * *

When Derek came around at 9:00 the next morning, Stiles scraped for dear life under the ridge, clinging to the ladder. At lunch, they ate with his father in the kitchen again, and right before Stiles picked up Talia after school, the wall looked ready for paint.

Talia ran around the back of the house ahead of Stiles, who was walking stiffly, nursing his sore muscles. Standing on a tall ladder had made him use his quadriceps in new ways to keep his balance. When he finally rounded the corner, he stopped abruptly at the sight in front of him. His dad had come out on the back porch, and was sitting on the bench with his cane in his hand, eyes on Talia and Derek.

His daughter was eagerly spray painting orange flames on a black bike in her size while Derek held it upright, pointing and instructing around adhesive tape.

Stiles silently went over to sit beside his father, meeting Derek's eyes over the bike for a second before Stiles quickly yielded and turned his gaze to Talia instead. She hadn't had time to change before she'd started painting, and her jeans already were more orange than blue. She brushed her long hair over her shoulder, getting a long orange stripe in it. "Derek, can you help me?"

Derek held out his hand for her. "Come here and hold the bike." They switched places, and Talia held it while Derek made vibrant flames, a huge grin not leaving his daughter's face until Derek told her it needed time to dry before she could use it.

Stiles helped her clean her hands with a rag soaked in mineral spirits while Derek rolled the bike into the garage. Talia ran over to sit beside her grandpa, while Stiles thanked Derek.

Derek cleaned up the equipment after the day. "No, problem," he said, placing the ladder on the ground.

Stiles followed him to his truck. "It was kind of you to give Talia a bike. You must let me know how much I owe you for it."

Derek shook his head. "No, that was a gift."

"But . . . "

Derek cut him off. "I bought the bike in a secondhand store, and I wanted it to be a gift."

Stiles nodded slowly. "Okay, thank you. I feel so bad about you helping me out like this but getting nothing in return," he admitted. "I need for us to get more even."

Derek watched him over the open window, his hand on the ignition. "You can make me dinner tomorrow, if you want? I hate cooking for only myself."

"Yes!" Stiles grinned at him, relieved for the opportunity. "How about dinner at a restaurant? What's your favorite place to eat?"

Derek grinned back at him, putting on his sunglasses. "I'll tell you tomorrow." Then he started the car and drove away.

After they had eaten dinner that night, Stiles called Melissa to get her son's phone number, cursing the lack of internet in this house. He took the opportunity to ask if she could come over the next day to make dinner for Talia and his dad. She instantly agreed.

* * *

Like the previous day, Stiles was already painting when Derek arrived in the morning. Derek came up beside him, taping up the window, before opening another can and started painting the window frames.

Stiles was deep in his own head when Derek's voice seeped in. "Huh?"

Derek painted the thin mullions, his forehead creasing in concentration. "I said: Talia is an unusual name. Did her mother choose it?"

Stiles splashed yellow paint on his shoe. It matched all the other yellow spots already there. "Why do you ask?"

Derek shrugged, keeping his eyes on the brush. "Just making conversation."

Stiles turned back to the wall, continuing the work. "I can't remember actually. I read a lot of names books before she was born, but if I found it in one of those or her mother came up with it, I don't recall." Thinking about how many years had passed since, he sighed. "It's eight years ago."

"Okay." Derek shrugged easily, dipping his brush in the can.

Gray clouds came in during the afternoon, and when it started dripping, they stopped their work. Talia came back home on her bike as they were packing up, Nate at her heels, or wheels. It'd been a long time since Stiles last saw him, and he was a really cute kid with huge, brown eyes, looking more like his mother than father.

Stiles ruffled his dark hair. "Hey, kid! How're you doing?"

Nate smiled widely at him, dimples appearing in his cheeks. "I'm good! Thanks for moving here, Stiles!"

Stiles swallowed hard, opening his mouth.

"We've not moved here, Nate." Talia's voice sounded like she'd told him this several times already. "We're staying until Dad's boss gives him his job back."

Stiles stared at her. Why he still continued to be surprised by his daughter, he'd never know. He was probably plain old stupid when it came to her.

Talia and Nate placed their bikes in the garage, and Nate followed after Talia on their way inside the house, school bags over their shoulders, as Derek rounded the corner with paint cans in his hands.

Nate waved. "Hi, Derek!" he sang before the back door slammed after him.

Derek lifted his chin, unable to wave while carrying the heavy cans, but the kid was already gone.

Stiles followed Derek as they stored their equipment in the garage, safe from the rain. "You know Nate?"

"Obviously." Derek's tone was dry when he passed Stiles, walking to his car.

Stiles followed him. "We're still going out for dinner?" He needed to ask since they hadn't mentioned it with one word all day.

Derek opened his car door, looking back at Stiles. "Of course. I'll pick you up in an hour?"

Stiles smiled, relieved. "Great!"

He headed inside after Derek left. Talia and Nate sat on either side of his dad on the living room sofa, telling him a story about something mysterious in a forest. They were laughing, and had trouble telling it in a sensible way, sounding like an old married couple, finishing each other's sentences.

When Stiles headed back downstairs after a much needed shower, Melissa was there, standing by the stove cooking, while the kids did their homework at the kitchen table. Stiles walked over to kiss her cheek.

"Thanks for doing this," he said against her face.

She smiled at him. "No problem at all. Nate was going to come over to my apartment to eat with me after school, so we just met up here instead."

"That's good. I'd hate to disturb your plans."

Melissa patted his chin. "You'd never do that, my boy."

Stiles grabbed a spoon and dipped it in the sauce, humming at the taste.

"So, have you called Scott yet?" Her voice was quiet, her gaze on the pot.

Stiles glanced at Nate, but he and Talia were focused on their math books. "No," he admitted, "not yet."

Melissa looked at him from the corner of her eye. "Stiles. You know he'll understand, right? Like youl get him?"

He squeezed her shoulder. "I guess so."

She smiled at him, stirring the pot. "Now, when will Derek be here for your date?"

Stiles stared at her shocked. "It's not a date!"

She frowned, confused. "Oh? I thought . . ."

Stiles interrupted to make it clear. "I'm repaying him for all the help he's given me with the house. He gave Talia a bike today, and even helped her paint it like she wanted!"

"Sure," she dragged, giving him a look which Stiles frowned at.

His father came limping into the room just as Stiles heard a car in the driveway. He gave the kids a hug and his father a squeeze on his good shoulder before turning to Melissa.

"Don't worry about getting home early," she said before he even opened his mouth.

Stiles settled on shaking his head at her before he grabbed his jacket and keys. He was smiling as he locked the front door behind him, and continued to do so as he sat down in the passenger seat of Derek's car. "Hey," Stiles said, his voice weirdly breathless as he met the man's gaze.

"Hi," Derek greeted back, looking pleased as he drove them out on the road.

"Where're we going?" Stiles asked, remembering he still didn't know Derek's favorite place to eat.

Derek slowed down at the traffic lights. "You'll see."

They stopped outside a pizza place.

"Really, Derek? Pizza?" Stiles looked at him incredulously. "You get to pick any restaurant you want and you settle for_ pizza_?"

Derek opened the door, frowning. "Well, I like pizza and beer. Nothing wrong with that."

Stiles hurried to follow him. "No, of course not! I like it, too."

His stomach rumbled when they got seated at the back, and he took a deep breath in. "Mm, smells heavenly."

Derek grinned, rearranging the candle for them to see each other.

When the waiter came, Stiles ordered them two beers, but let Derek choose their pizza. He was the expert here, after all.

"So," he said, looking up at Derek from his glass after it had arrived quickly. It was wet with dew. "What do you do when you're not working at the hardware store or helping men completely lacking painting skills?"

Derek's eyes twinkled. He set his glass down, foam on his upper lip. "A little bit of this and a little bit of that."

"Really, Derek?"

"Okay. I like running. That's one of the things I do."

"Like as in training?"

Derek smiled. "Is there any other type of running?"

"Oh, you wouldn't like to know." Stiles tried for cryptic.

"You're running in another way?"

Damn. Guess he set himself up for that one. "Sort of. I'm on indefinite suspension from work, and I drove us straight here."

"Where you feel safe."

Stiles stared at Derek. "You sure you're a clerk and not a shrink?"

Derek grinned, shrugging. "Seemed natural to me."

Stiles sighed, plucking at the napkin in front of him. "Yeah, I guess. It's a good thing though, for the three of us to be together."

"For Talia, you and your wife?"

"I'm not married!"

Derek took a long sip of his beer, shrugging.

"I meant, Talia, me, and my father," Stiles explained.

Derek's eyes went soft as he looked at Stiles. "Of course."

Their large meat pizza arrived, smelling heavenly.

Stiles dug in, spinning the melted cheese strings around his slice before stuffing his face. He moaned as the food hit his sense of taste. It wasn't until he'd finished his first slice he could focus to say, "This is so good!" He picked up his second slice, picking up the meat that fell off it and popped it in his mouth. "I can see why this is your favorite restaurant."

Derek smiled between mouthfuls. "I thought you'd like it." He had sauce at the corner of his mouth.

Stiles swallowed quickly. "Fuck no! I love it!" He gripped his beer, drinking to help the not-completely-finished-chewed pizza down to his stomach. He winced as it passed.

He was on his fifth slice before Derek asked, "Tell me about Talia's mother?"

Stiles dried his mouth with a napkin, putting it down. "What do you want to know?"

"How did you meet?"

"We met at work," Stiles started. "Well, at a bar between our work buildings, and hooked up. Later, she came to find me at work, said she was pregnant, but couldn't keep the baby. She'd never planned on having kids and she was too committed to her career." He glanced up at Derek, who was looking at him intently.

"You see, she was a physics scientist and was working day and night, tirelessly. I was very committed to my own career too, and it wasn't a good time for me either to have a kid. The thought of it hadn't even crossed my mind up to that point, but when she said she was going to have an abortion . . . "

Stiles swallowed against the tightness in his throat. "Well, it was her body and her choice of course, but together we decided to keep her after all."

"Luckily," Derek muttered, stuffing the crust into his mouth.

Stiles patted his full stomach. "I bought an apartment in the same building as she lived, and we raised Talia together like that, until one day the day care center called me. Talia was almost three then. Her mother hadn't come to pick her up as agreed."

Frowning, Derek stared at him.

"We haven't seen her since, and I've been working hard to give my girl a stable life ever since. I think I've done something right at least, because she's seemed unfazed by me deciding to come here from one day to the next."

He glanced up at Derek, whose eyes were dark in the dim light. "It all started with Beacon Hills," Stiles told him quietly.

Derek looked confused.

"Her mother and I bonded over our common hometown." Stiles watched Derek intently as he said the last sentence, gawking his reaction.

Derek's eyes went wide, his gaze flicking between Stiles', like he was trying to read his mind. Looking for more information.

Despite the hints, when Derek finally opened his mouth to speak, Stiles was taken aback. "I think I might be her uncle."

* * *

**Thank you for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

"Fuck! Her uncle." Stiles breathed out, his hands shaking. "Your interest in Talia wasn't something I imagined."

Derek grabbed Stiles' wrist, his eyes intensely focused on Stiles'. "Please, I need to know. What's her name? What's Talia's mother's name," he clarified.

"Cora," Stiles rasped, and he cleared his throat. "Her name was Cora. Cora Harris."

Derek jerked his hand away to grab around his own torso, face ashen. Stiles could immediately tell Derek had a sister with the name of Cora.

"But Cora Harris, Derek? Wouldn't her last name be _Hale_?"

Derek gripped at his hair, different emotions flickering over his eyes, body restless. "I don't know what she'd call herself. I haven't seen her for many, many years now."

Derek gulped down the rest of his beer and dried his mouth roughly with the back of his hand. "I've tried everything to find her, but either she made herself impossible to find or . . ." Frustration was marring his voice as he admitted, "Well, the last few years I've believed she was dead."

Stiles leaned towards Derek, pressing his stomach against the table, his heart speeding up. "That's been my exact thought too, all these years Cora's been missing for us."

Derek's eyes were locked on Stiles', telling Stiles that a thought occurred to them both at the exact same moment. Derek opened his mouth just as Stiles whispered, "What if she pulled the same stunt twice?"

Derek nodded eagerly, hope shining in his eyes. "She might actually still be alive!"

Stiles threw himself back in his chair. "Oh my God. Can this be true?" He groaned, trying to_ think_. What did this mean? Where was she? "If she's actually alive, we're still not any closer to finding her." He felt exhausted with emotions. "I expect the answer to her disappearing lies in why she ran away, two times! Can it be the same reason twice?"

Derek rubbed his cheek thoughtfully. "Yeah, perhaps."

Stiles tried to think through the fog in his brain. "If she ran from Talia, from her responsibility as a parent, to have all her focus on her career again, it wouldn't work. She'd need her school papers and social security number to apply for jobs."

"No, that's not right." Derek shook his head. "Remember, she worked as Cora Harris, not Hale. Neither the police nor the private investigator I hired found her through her social security number."

"Yeah, I guess if you have the money and know the right people, you can fix any certificate and change your identity completely." Stiles pushed his plate away, disgusted by the thought of eating any more. He felt sick to his stomach. "You know, after we decided to keep the baby, Cora seemed as excited and in love with Talia as I was. After all the time we spent together as friends, it doesn't fit the image I have of Cora to run away from her kid!"

Derek looked at him over his glass as he took a sip. It had been filled without Stiles even noticing the waiter. "And you're positive she didn't run from _you_? Found a new boyfriend?" Derek asked.

"I already told you we were never together, Derek! We had sex one time, and we were never tempted to try to be together, not even for Talia. No offence! Cora was . . . " A thought occurred to him. "Oh God! I'm talking about her in past tense."

Derek's gaze was soft. "I noticed. You've done it every time you've mentioned her."

Stiles rubbed his face. He caught Derek's eyes and the lost expression there made him try to get a grip on himself. Sure, he'd lost his daughter's mother and a friend, but Derek had lost his sister-years and years ago. "I'm sorry, Derek. This must be really hard for you."

Derek looked down in his glass. "I've lived with the acceptance of Cora being dead for years now. This news is a good thing for me, Stiles."

"Yeah, but now you've sort of lost her twice."

Derek swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly. "Sometimes I've been so mad at her," he admitted, looking out of the window. "Back in the days I still hoped she'd run away and was alive, living her life somewhere, happy. Now I hear that she most likely _was_ alive, but ended up doing the same thing to her own child as she did to me and it makes me furious!" He turned to Stiles, pinning him with his gaze. "What the hell is wrong with her?"

"I understand that you've been mad—it's natural in the grieving process. And now that you find out she might have purposely caused you—and her daughter—this loss, it's truly something to be furious for! It's a highly selfish act." Stiles knew anger all too well. "We need to look into the two disappearances and compare the situations."

Stiles tried to collect his thoughts. "The first time she disappeared, did you get the impression it was voluntarily?"

"I don't believe in coincidences," Derek sighed, looking as tired as Stiles felt. "I had no idea what happened back then, but now it seems like it must have been a deliberate choice."

"Yeah." Stiles rubbed his eyes. He longed for his bed and a break from his own brain. "What did she run away from, though. Her student loans?"

Derek shook his head. "No, I don't think so."

"Oh?"

"She had inherited money."

"Ah, okay. So, not money problems then." Stiles' brain wouldn't work properly. "I never got the impression she was out of cash either. She worked day and night, and you'd think a job as a physics scientist pays well, right?"

Derek leaned his elbows on the table, but retreated to make room when the waiter came over to take their plates away. "I guess so."

Stiles took the opportunity to ask for the check. They grabbed their jackets after Stiles had paid and went out to the car.

"Hey." Derek opened his door. "I have a couple of pictures of her. Would you mind coming with me to confirm we're talking about the same person?"

Stiles chuckled, finding his own mood a little lighter after they came out for some air. "Is this your way of asking me to come home with you to look at your baseball card collection?" He grinned at Derek, winking to underline that it was meant as a joke.

"No," Derek said, voice low as he unlocked the car. He held the car door open without getting in. "I need to know if Talia's my niece."

Stiles rushed to say, "Yes, of course! I'm sorry. I need to know too."

Derek silently looked down the street. Under the sparse light in the parking lot, Stiles felt safe to really look at the man. Talia had the same coloring as Derek, with her dark hair and hazel eyes. Cora's eyes had been brown, her hair lighter, and straight where Talia's was wavy. Similarities in the facial features were too difficult for Stiles to tell. To him, Talia was the most beautiful girl in the world, and even if Cora was a pretty woman, it wasn't too big of a step to admit that his daughter got her beauty from Derek.

"Hey!" he cried, a thought hitting him as they slipped into their car seats. "I have actually seen you before! It was you!"

"It was me?" Derek asked confused, the key halfway to the ignition.

"In the forest, about twenty years ago!"

Derek's eyebrows shot up. "You remember me from twenty years ago?"

Oops. "Well, yeah. You are kind of memorable."

Derek snorted as he started the car, finally. "Obviously not that memorable if you just remembered it after hanging out with me for days."

"You made me get caught by my dad back then, distracting me with your . . ." He made a gesture in Derek's general direction, and Stiles could tell Derek immediately caught what Stiles meant with the way his eyes seemed to sparkle. It made Stiles throat go all dry. "You're like a devil in disguise," he finally whispered, finishing his sentence, but feeling too weak to put more lung capacity behind it.

Derek's eyes flickered for a second between Stiles' and down to his mouth. Stiles wet his bottom lip, tension hitting his gut.

Derek quickly looked away, gripping the gear shift and reversing them out of the parking lot.

Stiles kept his gaze on the sidewalks as Derek drove, both of them silent. He was relieved Derek hadn't leaned in, closing the distance between them. A kiss would only cause confusion, since it was merely their sudden possible family connection talking, making them feel close.

"Hey," Stiles said faintly. "Could you just drive me home tonight, you think? I'm really tired."

Derek quickly glanced at him sideways. "Sure, no worries."

Stiles sagged back in the seat. "Thanks, man. I'm wiped after all this turmoil. I feel like I've been riding a rollercoaster for hours. Days, really."

Derek stopped outside Stiles' house, cutting the ignition, and his hand fell down on his own thigh, staring straight ahead, gaze far away. Stiles sat still until he couldn't anymore, twisting in his seat. Derek was watching him. "So . . . "

Derek cut him off. "I need you to look at my pictures of Cora as soon as possible."

"Yes, of course." Stiles agreed immediately. "Are you coming over tomorrow? You could bring them."

"No, I have to work, but I'll try to come over in the evening."

"All right." Stiles stepped out of the car, his hand lingering on the door.

"Thanks for dinner." Derek leaned over the passenger seat, searching out Stiles' gaze. "And you know, for answering my question."

Stiles smiled at him. "Paying for dinner was too small a price to pay for all you've helped me."

"Well, you might have given me a niece," Derek said softly.

Stiles couldn't comment on that, his throat felt too thick. He gave Derek a curt wave and headed over to the house as Derek drove away. He walked up to his room immediately, feeling completely beat.

Lying in the dark on the worn out mattress from his childhood days, his head pounded and his muscles ached like he'd completed a marathon. He tried to muster the needed energy to get out of his clothes. Books poked him in the back and he pushed them off the bed, the low thumps ringing in the silent house.

Rubbing his sore eyes, Stiles tried to identify if it was anger, happiness, or devastation he felt from the night's shocking news. It was all too hard to comprehend, to understand. It dawned on him that he couldn't believe Cora could still be alive and, until he'd seen pictures of Derek's Cora, he couldn't afford to believe it.

Pulling his comforter up over his face, Stiles tried to let sleep consume him by focusing his thoughts over to his established happy-place: holding his child in his arms for the first time, seeing the bloody, red, and wrinkled little thing. How she smelled, felt and sounded with her mouth searching for a nipple, usually worked to center Stiles after the stressful shifts at the hospital.

Tonight, Derek's face kept popping up and wouldn't leave Stiles' mind; that hopeful look on his face when he realized there was a chance his sister might be alive after all these years. How hard would it be for Derek if she wasn't the same Cora that Stiles had known. But if it turned out to be her, and—despite every obstacle-—they found her, would she even be the sister Derek remembered?

At some point in the early morning, Stiles woke up from a light slumber, the Cora he'd known clear in his thoughts: giving birth to his child, the guttural moan coming from her as she gave Stiles the love of his life. It was months, no, years since he'd come to terms with the loss of Cora. She'd been out of the picture and Stiles' priority was his daughter first, then his father, and, lastly, his career.

Trying to help people get a better life—it had always given Stiles' life meaning, but after the incident with his patient, he feared he'd never trust his own decision again. Stiles' pulse sped up at the mere thought of Isaac Lahey, but for the first time since it happened, he let his mental blocks fall, letting his feelings flow freely as he curled around himself, pulling the comforter over his head.

Working at San Francisco's main public hospital, Stiles' ward was an inpatient acute ward for the city's most vulnerable: the poor, drug addicts, the elderly, the uninsured, and the homeless. It was a vicious circle—mental illness, being poor, addicted, homeless—and too easily connected.

To put it mildly, the hospital was an extremely hectic environment to work in. The human destinies Stiles witnessed daily were completely heartbreaking, but also provided some of the most rewarding work Stiles could imagine. Most health workers didn't last for a decade in that place, but they had regular access to new, energetic, and idealistic souls to take over, and it was known for its staff's knowledge and compassion.

Lahey had been one of the many admitted for acute psychosis. Surprisingly, a first time case for a man around the same age as Stiles. He'd been admitted because his father said he was a threat to himself, trying to prove he was a self-healing monster of some sort. Nothing new to Stiles or his co-workers. When he'd shed his own clothes to put on the standard hospital gown, the nurses saw his arms were full of purple bruises.

What was a bit different about this patient was that Lahey refused to say anything about it; he neither denied nor admitted the accusations for the first couple of days. The third day, when Stiles tried to talk to Lahey, had been one of the most hectic in a while. It wasn't an excuse—all of Stiles' work days were hectic—but Stiles was merely a human being, and the pressure affected him like it did everyone else in any profession. The constant telephone calls asking for his opinion and demands for his decision, while at the same time he tried to get a clear picture of a man clamming up, made it difficult to give Lahey his whole focus as he deserved. Then, when Stiles asked him about his father, the man scowled at him. Stiles asked him why his father would think he believed he was a monster? What exactly was it that made him a monster?

"Was it because you wanted to hurt people?" Stiles asked directly.

"No," Lahey finally opened his mouth to say.

"Then why are you here?"

Lahey frowned at him, frustrated and silent.

People were calling, knocking on the door, and the ER had numerous new patients needing Stiles' immediate attention.

He asked his patient another direct question. "Do you want to hurt yourself?"

Lahey stared at him, gaze carefully blank.

"Did you give yourself those bruises to see if you would self-heal, like your father told the ER nurses?"

"No," Lahey answered him, staring straight at Stiles, his gaze unwavering. "I was mugged."

Stiles sighed, making his decision. There were too many other human beings needing the space more than Lahey did. "I'm going to let you go."

Oh, how Stiles regretted those words.

Now it was up to the court appointed psychiatrists to assess Lahey's mental state. In the event Stiles didn't get called in to witness in the trial. He'd follow it anyway in the hope of getting an answer to the mystery that was Isaac Lahey.

Stiles rolled over onto his stomach, frustrated by the burning knot in his diaphragm. Sweaty and shaky, he buried his face into the mattress.

For the time being, he couldn't help patients, that was for certain, suspension or no suspension.

Stiles rolled over, pushing himself upwards slowly, and set his feet on the cold floor.

His union was on his case. He had an appointment with Lydia's therapist and her lawyer next week.

What was left in his priorities was his daughter and his father.

His daughter was content in school, had a friend and even got a bike. His father had his needs met, and his house was in the process of being painted. What Talia wanted from Stiles next would also be a good thing for his old man; a visit to the sheriff's department. As little as he wanted to, Stiles needed to make the phone call today, talk to the new sheriff—the man who used to be his best friend.

* * *

Surprisingly, picking up his phone to call the sheriff's office was not as hard as he thought it'd be, not when he'd finished talking anyway. The relief he felt after made the tension in his stomach worth it. He placed his phone down on the countertop just as Melissa opened the front door, calling out that she and the sheriff were back home.

"Hi," Stiles called back, "I hope you two are hungry, because I think I've overdone it a bit here." The saucepan he set on the table was filled to the brim with steaming soup, probably enough for their evening supper as well. He grabbed plates for their lunch and filled his own glass with water, thinking about what to serve his dad instead of the sandwiches on the side.

The sheriff came into the kitchen, his face still red after the physical therapy session he'd been to, and he struggled harder than usual to get seated at the table, sore as he probably was. Stiles didn't offer to help though. If possible, his father preferred to do things on his own without anyone interfering, even if it took him forever and a day to manage it. His stubbornness was probably the reason he'd come as far as he had.

Melissa joined them at the table, pouring thickener into the old sheriff's soup and drinking cup. Stiles drank a glass of water, needing to re-hydrate after a morning spent on the ladder, scraping the house.

"I've started on the north wall today," Stiles informed, not without pride in his voice. By now he'd experienced satisfaction by pushing his body in ways he hadn't done for years, and gotten a concrete result from something that didn't turn out to be a life or death situation if he screwed up.

Melissa smiled as she sat down too, grabbing her spoon. "That's great, Stiles!"

"Thanks." Stiles blew on his hot soup, looking at his dad, who sat stirring his food with his left hand, cooling his soup down. He met Stiles' gaze and grunted, and Stiles interpreted it as a confirmation of Melissa's praise. Stiles smiled at him before turning to a less cheerful subject.

"I called Scott earlier." He stared into his food, not finding it as appetizing anymore, but his stomach growled for more soup, so he accommodated it. The table was silent as they ate, like his father and Melissa were waiting for Stiles to elaborate. He poured himself a second helping before he elaborated. "I'd like to try for us to be friends again."

Stiles caught the look Melissa and his dad shared and sighed. "Yeah, I know. About time I forgave him, right?"

The sheriff grunted, placed his spoon down and reached for the notebook that was always with him.

Stiles and Melissa sat quietly eating as the sheriff scribbled down his message.

_Nothing to forgive. His job._

The three of them had had this conversation numerous times, in various mental states: anger, hopelessness, frustration, apathy. One thing was for certain; Stiles was the only one still not over it, and he hated himself for not being able to be.

"I'd like for you to come with us to visit the station," he told his old man.

His father grunted.

"I'll come with you too." Melissa smiled, covering Stiles' hand with her own. She knew they'd need her there, someone who cared for them all to keep everyone's interest in mind. She was perfect for it.

* * *

Melissa and Nate stood beside her car, waiting, when Stiles drove up beside them at the sheriff's office parking lot in the afternoon. Melissa opened the door for the older sheriff, helping him out while Stiles hesitantly placed his feet on the gravel ground, looking around with a new set of eyes at the place that used to be familiar to him a long time ago. The forest had grown thicker by the side of the brick building, threatening to consume it if it wasn't tamed down soon, long branches against the windows, casting dark shadows everywhere.

Talia passed Stiles, running over to Nate, and the boy grabbed the girl's hand, grinning as she skipped up the stairs beside him.

The new sheriff must have seen them coming through the window because when Stiles closed the door to his car, Scott opened the front door and greeted his son and Stiles' daughter with a wide smile. Nate dragged Talia in after him, familiar with the office as he was, and Scott's eyes snapped up to Stiles' as Stiles took a tentative step towards the building.

Stiles swallowed hard when he passed Scott, bracing himself, following after Melissa and his father up the handicap ramp, and went inside the station.

Scott went inside after Stiles, pulling out a chair for the older sheriff by the small table in the waiting area. A couple of young officers greeted them quickly as they rushed past the group, out the door, and drove away in a police car. A woman sat behind the front desk, talking on the phone, hair gray and curly, and her eyes lit up when she finished her conversation and came over.

"Sheriff Stilinski!" she called cheerfully, rushing over to greet her old boss.

Talia and Nate were nowhere to be seen, and Stiles stepped out from behind Melissa's back to take a look around for them. Scott stood silently by the desk, observing the group, and his cautious gaze snapped up to Stiles' as he approached, Melissa by his tail.

"Hey, man," Stiles said low, scratching his neck as he reached out his other hand for Scott to grab. It would be the first time in five years Stiles would touch his old friend voluntarily. Stiles caught a glimpse of the look in Scott's eyes before he was pulled in for a hug—it shone with hope.

"Stiles," Scott muttered against Stiles' head, "I'm so glad to see you." Stiles felt himself sag against his old friend, hugging the man tighter, feeling like something loosened inside his chest. He'd missed his best friend so much, perhaps more than he'd missed Cora.

He felt Scott starting to release him and Stiles took a step back to get some distance.

"You're my best friend." Scott looked at Stiles with his huge brown eyes, the kind that Stiles used to be a sucker for, and Stiles took another step back involuntarily, not ready to go there just yet, and bumped into Melissa.

He grabbed her quickly. "Oh, I'm sorry! Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." She smiled at him, grabbing both of the men's shoulders at the same time, standing between them. "I know you both have missed each other very much, and what happened between the two of you is hard to get over." She turned her face to her son. "Scott, I hope you can understand Stiles' difficulties with your involvement in the case his father was shot during."

Her son quickly nodded energetically, looking earnestly at Stiles. "Absolutely!"

Before Scott could say anything more, like repeating the old arguments defending himself, Melissa turned to Stiles. "I hope that you, Stiles, can understand Scott's difficulties dealing with the guilt he's felt after your father was shot."

Stiles wanted to say he hoped Scott still had trouble sleeping at night for it, but he knew it was high time he had a calm and sensible conversation with Scott. It was just so goddamn hard. He nodded curtly, pressing his lips together.

Melissa let them go with a smile. "Good! The two of you need to talk properly." Both men agreed, gauging each other. "So, Scott, we're all coming over to your house for dinner together on Sunday," she said with finality.

Scott agreed eagerly. "Yes! Good idea. Come over for dinner, Stiles? With Talia and your dad?"

Stiles sighed, feeling defeated. He_ wanted_ to forgive Scott, wanted to tell him he wasn't blaming him anymore, that it was an accident, like his father had done a long time ago—and his father was the one whose life had changed completely! When _he_ could, Stiles should be able to follow his example.

He was so tired of letting old bitterness sour his life when there were so many other things to fight for. He needed to make a serious effort. Now. It was time, for his father, Melissa, his old friend, himself and not least Talia—she needed the extended family he knew she'd get from the McCall-Argents. "Thanks, we'll be there," he agreed finally, and it made him feel good to say it.

Scott grinned widely at Stiles, not triumphant like Stiles had imagined in his head, but vulnerable and open.

Screaming and laughing, Nate and Talia came running around the corner towards them, a policeman scrambling after them, trying to catch the kids, yelling, "Stop the vicious thieves! They stole from my secret candy drawer and need to brush their teeth!"

Talia and Nate hid behind their respective father's legs, squealing as the policeman tried to grab them. They were finally thrown over the officer's muscular shoulders like sacks of potatoes as he marched back where they came from, the kids giggling non-stop.

"So, you got any coffee in this madhouse?" Stiles sat down on one of the free chairs.

Scott rushed to accommodate him. "I'll get us some."

Melissa pushed her son down on the chair beside Stiles. "Sit! I'll find it."

Scott grinned sheepishly at Stiles. "So, I heard you're staying here for a while? Nate seems to think you've moved here."

They made small talk for a while, watching as the older sheriff was greeted cheerfully by everyone still at the station on a late afternoon.

"What are you doing to fill your days?" Scott sipped on his styrofoam cup, looking up at Stiles.

Stiles slumped back in his chair, placing his half-full cup on the table. He'd forgotten about police stations not having the best coffee. "To be honest, I've been trying to get through the day mostly."

Scott nodded slowly. "Yeah, Mom said you had some kind of trouble with a patient, and you were on suspension?"

"That's right." Stiles sighed deeply. "I don't know if I'll get my job back, or if I'll even be able to keep my license. It'll probably be months before I know."

"Oh man! That's hard!"

"Yeah, I guess you can relate."

Scott flinched back like he'd been slapped.

Stiles hurried to correct himself. "Sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I meant that you could relate since you were investigated, nothing more, I swear."

Scott dipped his head solemnly, looking down. "It's not a good feeling, having a big part of your identity threatened."

Stiles sighed in relief; his friend got it. He chuckled at a thought. "I've started painting our house, and you'll never guess who I have to help me!"

Scott smiled at him, shaking his head.

Stiles leaned forward, placing his elbows at his knees. "Do you remember the time I dragged you into the preserve to help Dad solve the puzzle with the girl in two parts and we met this super hot man? I got so distracted by him that I totally let Dad catch me!" Stiles laughed, throwing his head back at the funny memory, but when he closed his mouth he heard Scott was completely silent, and his gaze snapped to the man.

Scott was staring at him. "Derek Hale," he deadpanned.

"Well, yeah," Stiles said surprised. "You know him?"

Scott eyed him, before flicking his gaze over to the older sheriff and back to Stiles. "You could say that."

Stiles watched him expectantly, waiting for an explanation, which he didn't get.

The older sheriff was in the process of getting up, Melissa at his side.

Scott pressed his lips together.

Stiles stood up too. "I guess that's my cue to leave."

* * *

Thank you for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles woke before his alarm clock went off the next morning. He fell out of his bed and pushed the curtain aside. The weather was of irritating importance when you painted a house, and today was a cloudy day, with glimpses of sun streams here and there; kind of perfect actually. His bedroom was at the back of the house, the side against the forest, and he opened the window to get the fresh forest air into his room, but as he took a deep breath in, a strong smell of paint attacked his nose, concealing everything else in the air.

Stuffing her mouth with breakfast, Talia couldn't get out of the house fast enough this morning, and Stiles had to call her back for the lunch box she forgot in her haste. She eagerly rolled down the road, impatient to meet up with Nate a few blocks away. They had secret plans to play police officers or detectives or something. Stiles wasn't sure, well, since their plans were secret.

Stiles sipped at his second cup of coffee when the doorbell rang. On his way to the door, he passed his father who sat in the living room watching the news on TV.

Derek stood outside, face marred with anxiety.

Butterflies appeared in Stiles' stomach like a whip. His father could hear anything they said, so he chose his words carefully. "You wanna come inside for coffee, or are you here to help me out with the house?"

Derek jerked his thumb to the garden. "Come outside?"

"Sure," Stiles agreed immediately, already closing the door between them. "You go back, and I'll be there in a second."

Derek nodded, striding towards the back.

Stiles refilled his own cup and poured one for Derek, too, before letting his dad know he'd be outside. Stiles was already dressed in his work clothes, and he hurried to get his shoes and paint-stained jacket on, slipping his phone in his pocket.

Rounding the corner, he found Derek slumped in the fragile-looking garden chair, which threatened to break when Derek shifted to accept his cup.

"Thanks."

Stiles tried to smile, but it probably came out a little stiff, and sat down on the stack of planks, which was significantly lower than merely a couple of days ago. "So, did you take the picture with you?" He dried his sweaty hands on his jeans.

Derek took a sip of his coffee, staring down at the grass. "Yeah," he said slowly, like he was reluctant to talk about it.

"Let me see?" Stiles was at the point where he just wanted it over with; tired of the uncertainty and needed to start dealing with the result, but Derek seemed to have all the time in the world.

Derek took a deep breath in and fished the paper out of his pocket on the outbreath, almost hitting Stiles as he jerked his hand towards him, like he had to force himself to show it.

Stiles set his cup down and turned the picture. Long, straight dark hair, milky white skin, huge brown eyes, and red, plump lips. It was a girl in her late teens, looking into the camera from the corner of her eye, about half the age of the Cora that Stiles had known. It was undeniably his Cora, though. Or Talia's Cora, really. Cora had never belonged to Stiles, and he hadn't wished for it either.

Derek must have watched him like a hawk, because suddenly he was there, on his knees before Stiles, clutching at his thighs with frightened eyes. "Is it her, Stiles? Is it her?" Derek shook him, frantic.

"Yes!" Stiles said gruffly, wiping at the tears streaming from his eyes and down his face with irritation, needing to have a clear vision of the picture. Shit! This was Talia's mother: Cora Hale, Derek's sister! His kid's mother happened to be Derek's sibling. What was the probability of such a coincidence? Scientifically extremely low.

"It's her," he cried as Derek threw his arms around Stiles, squeezing hard, as tight as possible, like Stiles made him closer to Cora.

Derek pressed his face to Stiles' neck, clinging to him. "Fuck, Stiles! Thank you!"

Stiles fell over Derek on the grass, rolled to the side and held the picture up in the air for them both to look at. "I can't believe it. I just can't." He pressed his hand to his mouth, his head swimming.

Derek bombarded Stiles with questions, his voice gruff. "How did she look as an adult? Was she happy? You said she was a workaholic; Was she stressed? Did she make any time for Talia? Did she ever say anything about her family?" His hand shook as he took the picture from Stiles, tracing the contours of his sister's face with his fingertip.

Stiles turned over to his side, resting his head in his hand, looking at Derek's profile. He had so many things to tell him, all of his memories of Cora related to their daughter. "Well," he started, and Derek turned his face to him, his eyes searching Stiles'. "She was pretty, just like in this picture."

Derek's mouth twitched, his nostrils flaring as if fighting back tears. Stiles reached out his hand, and stroked the man's cheek. "She was always busy with her work, spent day and night at the lab, so Talia mostly lived with me, but my impression was that Cora used every spare moment with her daughter." He dropped his hand to the grass between them, trying to think back.

He smiled, and the corner of Derek's mouth trembled, like he wanted to smile, but couldn't yet. "Talia says she remembers her, but I don't know if she really does or if it's through my stories."

Derek studied Stiles' face intently. "What have you told her about her mother's disappearance?"

Stiles frowned. "I've told her the truth, of course: That I don't know what's happened to her." He sighed, rubbing his forehead. "She used to fantasize about her mother suddenly coming to knock on our door, or if anything really bad happened, her mother would finally show herself and come to her rescue. I can't blame her since we don't _know_ anything. I mean, the last year I've felt so sure she was dead, but I haven't had the heart to take away Talia's hope."

Derek nodded solemnly. "So how's she been able to live with this?"

"As I told you, Cora spent a lot of time at work, so Talia was used to her mother not being around much." Stiles sat up, aware that the ground was wet, his jeans muddy. "She asked for Cora a lot in the beginning anyway, and I've always answered that she's not here anymore and that I don't know where she is. Talia wasn't even three years old when it happened, so it's normal for her to have just me around."

Derek sat up too, brushing the back of his hand over his eyes.

Stiles felt goosebumps tingling his arms when he thought of something. "Derek, we have photo albums!" He sat up. "So many pictures to show you!" But then he remembered, deflating. "But they're back in San Francisco. Dammit!"

Derek sat up too, drying his eyes. "That's all right. You'll show them to me sometime." Derek placed his picture in the inside pocket of his jacket, holding his hand over it, covering his heart.

Stiles jumped up. "But Talia's own album's here!" He was inside, running up the stairs to his daughter's room before he knew it, snatching the album from her nightstand, and racing back down.

In the backyard with Derek again, he gasped, pressing it to Derek's chest. "Here!" He gestured to the house. "I don't want to go inside, if that's all right? My dad's here and I really don't feel like telling him yet." This had to be a secret between him and Derek until they'd talked more about it, and when they first told anyone else, it had to be his father, and then Talia and Melissa. If Derek had anyone he was close to, they had to be next.

Watching the expressions on Derek's face when he opened the album, Stiles waited as the man read the stories and comments Stiles had written in there. It contained the story of Talia and her mother, from Stiles' point of view. Derek laughed and cried interchangeably, and Stiles thought about how Talia now had an uncle and that Derek probably needed her as much as Talia needed him.

* * *

Two days later, Stiles, his father and Talia were on their way to Scott's house for dinner. Stiles drummed his fingers against the steering wheel before Talia placed her hand over his hand, stopping him.

"Don't be nervous, Dad," she told precociously. "They're all nice, I promise."

His father grunted from the backseat.

Stiles took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I know, baby. I haven't talked to them for five years, but I know they're nice, or else we wouldn't be on our way to them." He threw a tight-lipped smile her way, but she was already looking out the window on her side.

At Scott's house, Nate ran down the stairs to meet them, pulling Talia inside after him while Stiles helped his dad out of the car. Melissa came down the stairs to help out and when they were finally inside the front door, Scott and Allison were there.

"I'm so glad you could come!" Scott shook Stiles' hand eagerly before he even had time to take off his shoes.

Stiles glanced over to Allison, who stood with her arms crossed in front of her chest, not looking as ready to be friends again as Scott seemed. "Thanks for inviting us?" It came out more like a question than Stiles had intended.

Scott threw his arm around his girlfriend. "We're happy to have you."

Finally, Allison grabbed Stiles' outstretched hand, gripping it firmly. "It is nice to see you again, Stiles. We've missed you alot. Both of us."

Stiles swallowed hard. Fuck, this afternoon wouldn't be easy, for any of them. They had a lot of things to talk about, but what he really wanted to tell them was that he'd found Talia an uncle. It felt like too big of a deal to go on carrying it alone, but he pressed his lips firmly together. "I've missed you so much." He pulled Allison to him, hugging her tight. He felt Scott beside them, as he patted Stiles' back.

"Me too," Allison muttered. "Me too, Stiles. We need each other."

Stiles let her go, looking at her face. "Yeah, we really do," he sighed, smiling at her. "So what're you doing these days?"

She smiled back. "I'm still working at the FBI center downtown with my dad. Now I'm teaching them all about firearms." She was full on grinning now.

"Wow!" Stiles breathed, a little put out by the images pressing their way into his brain. Allison like Lara Croft popped up before he caught himself. He cleared his voice. "Awesome!"

The doorbell rang, making Stiles jump, and he finally got rid of the unwanted image. Melissa strode into the hall, opening the door. Chris Argent's sunburned face appeared, all smiles and friendliness. "Hello, sweetheart," he said, kissing Melissa's chin.

Stiles raised his eyebrows in question to Scott, who shrugged uncomfortably, mouthing, _"Old news."_

"Right," Melissa sang. "Now that we're finally all here, can we please eat? The food's getting cold."

Allison gave Stiles her dimpled smile, and he grinned back at her. Maybe it would be easier than he'd feared.

* * *

Talia and Nate played together up in Nate's room after dinner, and Melissa, Chris, and the older sheriff sat on the couch watching TV. Stiles stuck his nose in the air, smelling sweet coffee aroma as he reached the kitchen, carrying dirty dishes.

"Aah!" He breathed out, placing everything on the counter, and grabbed the cup of coffee Scott pressed into his hand. "Thanks!" He grinned. It was much easier to relax than he'd thought it would be.

Scott gestured to a chair. "Sit down. I'll clean up here later."

"So . . . " Allison sat nursing her cup with both hands, looking between the two men.

"Yeah." Stiles sighed. "Where do we begin?"

"I know," Scott said, swallowing visibly. "I am so sorry, Stiles. I hate that your dad got shot, and I still don't know how it happened."

"Tell me about it, please?"

Scott looked at him cautious, but honest. "I think you've heard it all before."

"Let's just go over it one more time, okay?" Allison said. "So we're sure."

Stiles agreed. He'd heard—or read, more precisely—his father's version of the night, and he'd been to the hearing, but a lot was classified information that was never made public. It had been a highly unsatisfying experience.

Stiles had never let Scott explain himself face to face. Stiles had placed the blame on Scott because he'd needed to place it somewhere, he knew that, and he'd buried himself in a downward spiral since. It was easier to have _somewhere_ to place his anger than to carry it around inside. "Yeah, let's go over it together."

Scott nodded. "Okay, I was on night shift at the station, it was quiet and I dozed off. Then I got the call from my dad. Working on a case for the Bureau, he had inside information about a drug lair downtown, and he gave me the address. He got wind that they were supposed to receive a new shipment that night and he needed us to help him out immediately."

Stiles was already familiar with this. "And then you called my dad."

"Yeah, unfortunately I did." Scott looked miserable, his knee jumping.

Allison placed her hand on his knee. "But it was according to protocol to call your boss."

"But still! It was Stiles' dad!"

Stiles scraped his chair closer to the table. "Yes, it was my dad, and when you called him, you were doing your job, weren't you?"

Scott's gaze snapped up to Stiles', surprised. "Fuck, Stiles. Yeah, I was."

It felt so good to say those words to Scott. Stiles had thought about saying them many times. When he was in a good mood, he thought that if he was a better man, he'd say those words to his best friend.

Scott cleared his voice, sloshing his coffee around in his cup. "The sheriff, me, and two other officers met up with my dad a block away from the exit to the house. It was right on the border of the preserve, its backyard facing it. My dad had it all planned out, and we spent an hour talking it all over, rehearsing, but when we were in place by the house, it all went to shit.

"We shouldn't have done what my dad told us." Scott threw himself back in his chair. "I don't know."

"No, you had to follow his orders," Allison said. "This was an FBI case. You know this. You had to do as he said."

Scott groaned, looking as sad and frustrated as Stiles felt. "Anyway. Your dad was shot in the head in the turmoil when we attacked the house."

"Yes, but what I don't get is how he could get shot? When you entered the house there was only one man there!"

"I know!" Scott groaned frustrated. "And we had to set him free, because how can a blind man shoot anyone?"

* * *

Stiles didn't get any new information that night, and he probably had to live with the uncertainty for the rest of his life. He was done blaming Scott though. So done with it.

It hadn't been easy coming to terms with Scott getting the sheriff's badge. After the investigation was over and the hearing ended, Scott not only kept his job, he also was promoted—to be the boss the old sheriff couldn't be anymore, as he floated between life and death at the hospital for weeks. Stiles' father had contracted pneumonia and sepsis, and he had to be in induced coma for a month before he slowly came back to life, half his body partially paralyzed and his speech taken away from him.

Stiles was forever grateful for all the salad he'd forced into his dad instead of letting him eat the red meat he'd really wanted, and being persistent with his healthy living. The cardiologist told them both that his father could thank his perfect blood pressure, the lack of fat in his arteries, and routine morning runs for his life.

Many nights lying in bed, trying to sleep, and thinking his most secret and darkest thoughts, Stiles wondered if his father wished he hadn't followed Stiles' advice, and had died from the shot instead of living a life as a handicapped man, unable to work or take fully care of himself. Stiles' therapist told Stiles again and again the same thing Stiles would have told his own patients; having a handicap doesn't say anything about the quality of your life. The way his dad had fought and still fought every day was an achievement to respect him for, and that respect included not feeling sorry for him, but focusing on all the good in their lives.

* * *

Monday morning the rain poured down, and Stiles drove Talia to school so she didn't have to take her bike and get soaking wet before the school day had even begun. It was definitely not a day for painting outside, but Stiles had time, and he had other things needing to be done instead. He planned to take some phone calls, and find out the possibilities of getting internet at the house. He also needed to follow the local news in San Francisco in case there was something concerning Lahey's case in them.

On a whim, he drove a longer route home, passing the forest, and turned onto the dirt road, leading to the address Lydia had given him to the supposedly delusional man who believed he was a werewolf.

A car came towards him, and the road was not wide enough to let them pass each other, but the other car stopped in a indent so Stiles could pass him. It was Derek's truck, Stiles realized as he came up beside him. He rolled down his window and leaned his elbow on the door.

"On your way to work?"

"Yeah. Not a day for painting, is it?" Derek smiled, looking up at the heavy clouds, rain dripping down his face. The trees were thick over the road, keeping it from pouring on their spot. "Anyway, I have some paperwork waiting." Derek sat back in his seat. "What're you doing here? Coming to visit me?"

Stiles laughed. "No, I didn't know where you lived. I'm here because of my friend Lydia, actually."

Derek frowned at him. "Lydia?"

"Yeah, Lydia Martin," Stiles explained. "She's a doctor at the hospital. Do you know her?"

Derek's frown deepened. "Yes, I'm familiar with her." His voice was tight.

It didn't seem like Derek liked Lydia much, but Stiles knew from his younger days that she could be a bit too much sometimes, until you got to know her. "I guess you'd know your neighbour living in the huge wooden house at the end?"

"Why are you here really?" Derek spat angrily.

Stiles felt like he was missing a big piece of the puzzle until it dawned on him. "Oh!"

Derek hit his steering wheel, making the horn honk loudly. "Fuck! What has she told you?" He muttered something sounding like: _How could she?_

Stiles slapped his forehead. "Shit!"

Derek raced his engine, passing Stiles, spraying gravel all over his car. Stiles shook it off from his arm outside of the window before he closed it and drove carefully to the clearing where Derek's house was, his heart pounding. He sat, trying to calm down and to get his unwilling brain to cooperate while rain hammered on the roof of his car.

What the hell! Was Derek delusional? That couldn't be right. He seemed as grounded in reality as he should be, from what Stiles could tell.

Derek's truck came screeching to a halt beside Stiles' car. Derek jumped out, strode over and ripped Stiles' door open.

"What the hell, Derek!" Stiles got out of the car at a normal pace. "You need to calm down!"

"Not until you tell me exactly why you're here!" Derek roared. "I'm so fed up with that meddling woman, and it turns out _you_ of all people are one of her lackeys?" Derek deflated right in front of Stiles' eyes, and he groaned deeply, dragging his hands over his face.

"We need to talk." Stiles locked the door to his car and walked over to stand under the roof covering the front porch before looking back to the other man. Derek stared after him, standing at the same spot.

"What?" Stiles flung up his palms. "You still going to work, or are we going inside?"

Derek took a hesitant step towards the house, unlocked the door, and held it open for Stiles to enter. Inside the hall, Stiles took off his shoes and hung up his wet jacket, which dripped water down on the wooden floor. Stiles looked to Derek when he was done. "Coffee?"

Derek came to life, and led the way to the kitchen.

Stiles went after Derek, admiring left and right as he approached the heart of the house. It looked as much as a family home on the inside as it did from outside. Wood was the main material used from what Stiles saw, but instead of giving a heavy feeling to the dark rooms, he felt close to nature and like the house had a soul, history.

Large windows directed towards the forest let green light flow into the kitchen onto a huge wood slab table. Stiles pulled out a chair beside it and sat down as Derek busied himself with the coffeemaker at the counter.

"You have a very impressive house here!" Stiles looked around, leaning an elbow on the table. "Have you done all this yourself?" He threw out his hand to the wall they had come through. It was made of reclaimed stones, ending up in a fireplace in the corner.

Derek reached for cups from the upper cupboard, his sweater riding up to expose a strip of his lower back, his dark jeans hugging his behind.

Stiles' snapped his gaze up to Derek's as he turned to look at Stiles. "Yes, I spent years rebuilding my family's home." He walked over to the table, placing the cups down a little harder than strictly necessary as he sat down.

"Oh, no, this was your family's house? I remember seeing it burned to the ground many years ago."

Derek watched him over his cup, assessing. "Haven't you asked your father about me?"

"No!" Stiles felt confused, pulling at his wet jeans. "Should I?"

Derek shrugged, not elaborating.

"You mean since we're now kind of related?"

Derek set his cup down, nursing it with his hand. "I'd think you'd want to know more about me before you let me meet Talia as her uncle and let it become public knowledge."

Stiles nodded. "Fair enough." He took a sip from his coffee and hummed as he saluted Derek with his cup. "This is good!"

"I was going ask Dad about you," he admitted after a pause. "I want to know what you were doing in the forest when they were looking for half a woman. How did you came to know my dad so well that you knew he'd love to have a cane decorated with art inspired by the preserve. I wanted to ask my dad why he didn't know Cora was your sister when he met her in his early visits to San Francisco.

"I haven't talked to him about any of this yet because I wanted for us to get to know each other more first, and I'd prefer to get the answers from you instead." He looked up at Derek, who was staring at him intently.

"I have answers to all of your questions, but first I'd like to know what made Dr. Martin ask you precisely to come here."

"Thank you!" Stiles said sincerely, leaning back in his chair. "When Talia and I came back here, I went to Lydia to get help to sort out my problems with work. I was too overwhelmed and confused to think clearly all by myself, and she's an old friend of mine from school, highly intelligent and capable of making me see the essence of things. As a favour, Lydia asked me if I could talk to a man that her nurse heard saying he was a werewolf. She was hoping . . . " he leaned forward, putting emphasis to what he was saying next, "to prevent you from being forced to become a patient."

"Right," Derek said. "Okay. Your friend has been here a couple of times, demanding that I come to the hospital to talk to someone, get committed or medicated or I don't know. She seems to think she can do what she wants."

"So, Derek." Stiles leaned forward. "Why would someone claim you believed you were a werewolf? If the nurse lied about you, what would make a person think of such a specific lie?"

Derek hesitated. "Look," he said finally. "We have a lot of things to talk about, and it's all related. All the questions you have for me have basically one answer, but it will not be easy for you to accept, so it will take a lot of trust." Derek looked him in the eye. "I'm not sure you're ready yet."

Stiles stared at him for a minute, silent, collecting his thoughts. "Okay, I should tell you that Lydia asked me for help because I'm a psychiatrist working with acute psychotic patients back home. Many of the things I've seen and heard might shock people not familiar with patients, but it's inevitable to develop other limits when you in daily life are dealing with anything the human mind can come up with.

"What I'm trying to say is, I like to believe I can handle something out of the norm. There isn't much I want more than for you to be a part of Talia's life, and for that I do need to trust you, and I need to know what you're dealing with."

Derek went over to stand in front of the window, his hands behind his back. "I would have been sceptic, had I been in your situation. I'd need to protect my kid. But for what it's worth, I can promise you I'll never be a threat to Talia."

Stiles watched Derek's back, feeling like Derek was waiting for his decision. Stiles wanted the answers, and he needed to know if Derek was as stable as he seemed to be.

What would he do if Derek told him the nurse had heard right? If Derek truly believed he was a werewolf, how would it affect them all?

"Derek."

Derek turned around, his gaze cautious, fear seeping through.

Stiles went over to look out of the window too, the rain still whipping against the glass. "I don't think it matters if you believe you're a werewolf or not. I know it's possible to have an approximately normal life while dealing with even the more severe mental diseases. If all you have to deal with is thinking you're a werewolf, then I'd say: Okay, so you're a werewolf. I won't treat you like one, and never believe it myself, but I can accept that you think so." He paused, glancing at the other man. "But in my experience there are very few people with delusional disorder, with delusions as the only symptom."

Derek turned abruptly to him, face frustrated, fists tight by his thighs, but he didn't say anything.

"Okay." Stiles decided to let it go for now, and would rather focus on getting to know Derek more. "Are you going in to work now, or do you want to hang out with me?"

"I want to be with you," Derek said immediately. "We could have gone for a walk in the preserve back here, but it's better to see after lunch if the rain eases up some. Come on, I'll show you the house."

Stiles smiled at him. "I'd like that." He followed Derek out in the hall. "Did you go to school to learn all this?" He laughed. "You know I have no idea about this. But then I'd be easy to impress."

"Yeah," Derek smiled, opening the door to the living room. "I studied to be a carpenter in New York. A few years after I came back here, I started my own business while I took business classes, and then I opened the store."

Like the kitchen, the outer wall of the living room was covered in windows, letting the verdant light dominate the room.

"Store?" Stiles asked when he finally focused back on Derek's words.

Derek looked at him, puzzled. "Yeah, the hardware store?"

Oh.

* * *

Stiles went to pick up Talia from school on his way back home. She came rushing out of school, Nate at her heels, and she threw her backpack into the backseat.

"Dad! Can I please go with Nate to his place? Please! Please!" She held her hands folded up in front of Stiles' face, and he chuckled at her antics, grabbing her in for a hug.

"Please, Stiles!" Nate was beside them, and Stiles grabbed him too, hugging them both before Talia slapped his chest.

"Dad! You're so silly!"

Stiles pretended to look stern at her. "Hm, first you beg me to let you go to Nate's and then you call me silly?"

She rolled her eyes. "That's because you _are_ silly. It's not name-calling when I'm telling the truth."

Stiles ruffled her hair, laughing. "I'll show you silly!" He got out of the car, but Talia sprinted giggling from him to the other side of the car.

"Dad, now you're embarrassing me!" She opened the door and slipped in quickly. "Here, Nate, come on. Dad won't say no."

Talia had her dad so wrapped around her little finger, it wasn't even funny. He sighed, but got into the car himself, turning to face the kids, his arm on the headrest of the passenger seat. "It's okay with me, but we have to talk to your parents first, Nate."

Nate grinned at him. "They're at work. Grandma's there. You know she won't say no."

Stiles smiled back at him. "No, I guess not." He turned around to start the car, hearing Talia and Nate high five, whispering,_ Yes!_

It was merely a light drizzle in the air, like an afterthought from the previous massive downpour. After lunch, Derek had taken him to the forest paths in the area of the preserve that bordered his house. Stiles felt tired both from the socializing and all the tension of their serious conversation, and his muscles ached from working on his own house earlier in the week. It felt good to let Talia stay at Nate's for the afternoon. Perhaps Stiles could take a nap.

Melissa was all smiles when Stiles came over with the kids. "Hold on a minute, Stiles! I have dinner that I planned to bring you later, but now you're here, you can take it with you."

Stiles smelled the air, the scents making his mouth water. Talia and Nate were already inside, busy with their playing.

Soon Melissa came out again, a casserole in her hands, which she pushed into Stiles' willing arms. "Tell the sheriff I'll come over later, all right?"

"Thank you. I will." He started walking down the stairs.

"Oh, Stiles! I can take Talia with me when I come over. I'll make sure they do their homework and she can eat supper here, so she just has to brush her teeth before bed."

Stiles went up the stairs again, held the casserole to the side as he kissed the woman's cheek. "Thanks!"

He hummed in the car on his way back home, his mind tired, but unwilling to rest yet. Turning onto his street, a black car stood in their front yard, tinted windows and polish shining. He rolled up beside it, looking around for signs of who it could be, but there was no one to be seen.

He strode up to the house, worried there was something wrong with his dad. The door opened before he could reach for the handle, and it had to be the visitor since his father would never spend all the time it'd take him to go open the door for him.

"Hello, Stiles!" Agent McCall stood right inside the door, holding it open. "We've been waiting for your return."

* * *

Thank you for reading! :)


	5. Chapter 5

"What the hell are_ you_ doing here?" Stiles stormed past the agent into the living room. It was empty. "Dad?" he called out. Relief flooding over him when he found him in the kitchen, sitting at his usual place. Stiles rushed to him, bending down in front of him. "You all right?"

His father gave him his light nod before looking up at McCall, his gaze stiff on the agent. Ever since Scott and Stiles met in the sandbox at the age of four and their parents got to know each other, their dads had been on edge. After Scott's parents split up a short while later, his father leaving town while Melissa stayed in Beacon Hills, Stiles guessed it was natural for his own dad and Melissa to become close friends and mutual safety nets. Then McCall returned to Beacon Hills as an FBI agent when Stiles and Scott were in high school, and he'd shown himself too much in love with his power. Conscious about his own potential power as a psychiatrist, Stiles easily recognized that kind of abuse in others.

Stiles stood up, realizing he was still holding the casserole. He placed their dinner on the counter before turning with crossed arms. He wanted the agent to get out of his face as quickly as possible. "What do you want, McCall?"

The agent smiled widely at him, throwing out his hand to the table. "Why don't you sit down so we can have a little chat, just the two of us."

Stiles scowled at him. "The three of us," he corrected.

McCall's smile didn't falter. Okay, so he was using control techniques. Stiles swallowed his annoyance down. The agent had always been a huge jackass, but after learning that McCall had been the one starting the chain reaction leading to his dad getting shot, Stiles always wanted to smack that grin right off his face. The only reason he hadn't done it yet was. . . Huh, why hadn't he already?

Stiles plastered a grin on his face. "Sure! Let's have a cosy chat; catch up. It's been too long, since we last spoke."

McCall held out a chair for him, but Stiles pulled out the one beside his dad instead and sat down. McCall sat down too, finally, turning his chair to the side, as if he didn't like to sit with his back to the door.

"You're not going to offer me anything?" McCall asked cheekily, jerking his head to the counter where their meal stood waiting.

"Nope." Stiles leaned back, throwing his arm on the back of his dad's seat. "We Stilinski men only extend common host courtesy to those we like. Besides, it's Melissa's cooking, and her magical skills would be wasted on you. As we all know. If you can remember that far, you'd know she's a close family friend."

Again, McCall's smile didn't falter, but it seemed like his lips became a little less curvy. "If you're finished throwing your childish insults at me, Stiles, I'll steer our conversation over to more mature themes. Let's see if you're capable of answering a simple question." He leaned forward, his gaze calculating. "How are you, Stiles?"

"Fine."

"That's not what I hear."

"Then you should get yourself better informants."

McCall nodded before seeming to try a different approach. "A little bird told me you're in trouble at work." He slicked a lock of his gray hair to the side. "Not that it surprises me," he added like an afterthought.

Stiles didn't flinch. He'd seen it coming. He was expecting some below the belt verbal sparring from the minute he saw who the visitor was. "It surprises _me_ to see you here, McCall. I'd thought you'd have retired a long time ago."

"And it surprises me that you let a delusional patient out on the street! A man who believes he's a self-healing monster is clearly psychotic!"

Stiles stared hard at the agent, whose facial expression didn't give Stiles any answers. How the hell did McCall know about that? Could it have leaked out in the media already? Stiles was so behind on everything, he needed to get internet installed_ yesterday_.

"So, you've befriended Derek Hale." McCall changed the direction without a hesitation yet again. He'd definitely rehearsed what he was going to say to Stiles.

"That's not a secret. But my patient's mental health is protected by confidentiality." Stiles frowned. "Don't you even care about how many laws you're breaking?"

McCall grinned, smug. "You're forgetting that I work for the FBI, boy. I know everything!"

Stiles scoffed, squeezing his dad's shoulder. "I strongly doubt that!"

"Then tell me why you were at Derek's house all day!" McCall leaned back in his chair, like he was waiting and actually thinking Stiles would tell this man _anything_.

"Are you following me now? I'm beginning to think you're suffering from early dementia, old man. It's clearly you that's delusional." Stiles smiled sweetly. "I'll call Scott to let him know he needs to take his old man to the doctor. If it's Alzheimer's, you can get medication to slow it down, to give you more time to make up more conspiracy theories."

McCall set his mouth in a strict line, his gaze burning. He pointed his finger at Stiles. "You are threatening an FBI agent, you refuse to answer questions, and I'm starting to think you set your patient free on purpose!"

Stiles jumped up, his chair rattling to the floor. "Get the hell out of our house!" he roared, disgusted. "You're throwing mindless insults in our home and we want nothing to do with you!"

McCall rose, slamming his palm on the table so the old sheriff flinched. "You should be careful, Stiles." The agent's voice was low and pointed. "Very careful." He spun around, striding outside, with Stiles at his heels.

McCall ripped his car door open, catching Stiles' gaze. "I'm telling you this out of courtesy for your poor old man and the friendship you seem intent on keeping with my moron of a son!"

Stiles stood gaping after the car as it sped down the road, mud and gravel spraying the asphalt from the car's wheels. That had to be one of the most confusing conversations he'd ever had outside of his work.

He locked the door and went back to the kitchen, finding his dad pushing his notebook towards him. _He's right. Be careful. Of him!_

"I don't think he'd actually do anything to us." Stiles sagged down in the chair. "What I'd like to know is what his purpose here was? What was it he actually wanted?"

His dad grunted, pointing to _Be careful._

Stiles frowned at him. "Do you know anything about what he meant? What's his deal with Derek? Why wouldn't he want me to be friends with Scott?" He arched his back, gripping at his hair, not expecting his dad to answer.

He reached for his dad's message. "What makes you say I must be careful of him? Is there something you know about him that I don't?"

His dad averted his gaze, trying for a simple shrug before he pulled the notebook back to himself and started scribbling.

Stiles set the casserole to heat while waiting for his dad to finish writing. Soon, he placed their plates on the table, his dad's food mashed carefully, and sat down beside him to eat. He cast another look at the notebook as he blew on the food on his fork. Stiles hummed in agreement to what his dad had written before he started eating. _He's not a good man._

Scraping his plate clean, Stiles had made a decision. "I'm going over to Derek's again. Maybe he knows what's going on with McCall." He got up, placed his dish in the washer and the leftovers in the fridge. His dad wasn't done yet; he needed more time while he ate.

"Talia's at Nate's, but Melissa's taking her home later. I'll send her a text if I stay for a while."

His dad waved his spoon, as if saying: _Go! Go!_

Derek might not be home, since he'd spent all of his day with Stiles instead of working as he'd planned, but Stiles needed to do something, so he drove over without calling first.

Approaching the clearing, Derek's truck still stood outside his house, and Stiles parked beside it before getting out. Ringing the bell, he pondered what to say, but his thoughts all mixed together and made it hard to separate everything, to see reason. He pushed the doorbell again, but no one opened. He circled the house, and ended up on the porch where he sat down in one of the chairs to think.

He held his phone to text Derek just as the man came jogging from around the back, his t-shirt tucked into his shorts, chest sweaty. Anything Stiles had planned to say . . . eh, what was his name again?

Derek slowed down to a walk when he saw Stiles. "You back already?"

"Uhm."

Derek drew his underarm over his sweaty face, making his hair stick up. He stopped in front of Stiles, leaning on the railing.

Stiles closed his open mouth, swallowing with difficulty. _Okay, brain, find your words!_

"I want to know all your secrets!"

Derek cocked an eyebrow.

Stiles hurried to correct his traitorous mouth. "Uhm. I mean, I've had a visitor and . . . I don't know." He shook his head. _Work, dammit!_

Derek gave him a look before he pushed himself from the railing and went to open the door. "I'm taking a shower. You can wait inside if you want."

Stiles fumbled inside after him, seeing Derek take the stairs two at the time. Stiles took off his shoes and went to the library behind the living room to have a look at the books he'd itched to explore earlier in the day.

A while later, Derek woke him up with a cup of coffee from where he'd fallen asleep in one of the comfy chairs, the book lying open in his lap between page 4 and 5.

"Uhm, thanks," Stiles said gruffly, looking at his watch.

"Don't worry, you've been asleep only twenty minutes."

Stiles rubbed his eyes, before he took a sip from his cup and watched Derek sit down in the other chair, leaning back to watch Stiles in return. The light was dim in the room, curtains draped over the large windows, only one lamp lit beside him.

Stiles set down his cup on the floor, and picked up his cell, texting Melissa. When he put it down again, Derek was still watching him.

"So, you said you want me to tell you my secrets." Derek placed his elbow in the armrest, lifting his foot up over his knee. His feet were bare.

"That could have come out more eloquently."

Derek's mouth curled up in the corner. "I know what you meant."

"I need to tell you something first." Stiles leaned back in his chair, wiggling his behind to get comfortable.

Derek looked expectantly at him.

"You know Scott McCall?"

Derek nodded.

"He used to be my best friend."

"I know," Derek said.

"Oh, yes, that's right. Scott said he knew of you. Well," Stiles paused. "Okay. His dad's an FBI agent and a huge asshole."

"I know him too." Derek frowned, scratching at his thigh.

"When I came home earlier he was waiting for me at our house. And it was_ not_ for a social visit!"

Derek bit his teeth together audibly. "What?" he snapped.

Stiles sighed. "Yeah, I know. Huge asshole and all, but he came to speak to me like it was an interrogation. And some of the things he said made me want to come back here to talk to you again." He paused, trying to sort out his thoughts.

"He knew about the patient I had back home who got me into trouble, and why that patient was admitted. I haven't had internet since we came here, but I can't believe McCall got his information from the media."

Derek interrupted him, leaning towards him. "Stiles, what was wrong with your patient?"

Stiles squirmed in his seat. "You know I can't give you that information."

"Okay, I respect that." Derek sat back again, holding up his palm. "I'm going to ask you again later, though."

"My answer will be the same."

Derek looked at him. "We'll see."

"What I can say though, is that after my patient got out, he committed a serious crime. The worst." Stiles paused. "Then McCall asked me what I'd done all day at your house. He told me to be careful, like you'd be a threat to me."

Derek nodded thoughtfully.

Stiles braced himself. "I'm wondering if McCall could have heard that you allegedly believe you're a werewolf? I mean, many myths say werewolves are dangerous, right?" He paused, collecting his thoughts. "Werewolves can be described as self-healing monsters in stories, right?" He held his breath, anxious for Derek's reaction.

Derek jumped up, and Stiles pressed himself back in his chair, immediately alarmed.

"Fuck!" Derek strode over to the windows and back again, ripping at his hair. Stiles stared at him, having no idea what to say or do.

"Derek," Stiles tried gently. "I know my dad knows you, and he actually told me to be careful of McCall, not you! And he didn't say anything to stop me when I told him I was going over to your house. He actually behaved like he wanted me to."

Derek pushed the sleeves of his Henley up, stopped his pacing, and glanced at Stiles.

Stiles tried again, more pleadingly this time. "If you think I'm ready now, Derek, please tell me."

To his surprise Derek fell down on his knees in front of him, grabbing his hand. "Stiles."

"Yeah," Stiles breathed dumbly. If he hadn't been so focused on Derek's words and so frustrated about feeling like he was missing a huge piece in the puzzle, he'd have noticed how hazel Derek's eyes were, just like Talia's, but giving him completely different responses.

"I'm going to tell you something important."

Stiles kept moving his head up and down.

"And I know for a fact you won't believe me."

Stiles frowned, about to open his mouth, but Derek stopped him.

"No, please. Let me speak. It's something in this world you don't know about. We're not many left that are aware, and we can't prove it, but that's okay. It's how it should be. I don't want to change that. What I'm trying to say is I can't prove to you that I'm right, but mark my words: I am right. Okay?"

Stiles sucked up his every word.

"Good." Derek's gaze flickered between Stiles' eyes. "It's true. What Lydia's nurse heard. I'm a werewolf."

It took a second for the words to sink in, then Stiles started laughing. Derek rose up and sat back down in his chair, watching Stiles hold his stomach as laughter rolled through him.

Eventually, Stiles stopped, dried his eyes. His grin faltered. "I'm so sorry, Derek. I've been completely unprofessional, or a bad friend. I shouldn't have laughed at you. You're entitled to believe you're a werewolf, I didn't mean that you're laughable!"

Derek sat calm, watching him.

"You're not mad at me?" Stiles asked cautiously.

Derek shook his head. "No. I kind of expected you to laugh. At least amusement is better than anger. And as I told you, this is impossible to prove, so I understand that you can't believe me right now." He threw his hand out, gesturing to the book cases. "Sadly, all of my family's book collection on werewolf anthology was lost in the fire, so I don't have them to show you. I have a lot of stories to tell you, though, but you need to be ready for them."

Stiles stared at him. Derek truly believed he was right. Okay, so he was delusional. Stiles fished up his cell, texting Melissa again, asking if she could stay the night to look after Talia. This could take some time.

She messaged him back right away. "I have time." He smiled, tugging his foot under him to sit more comfortably.

"Okay." Derek let his arms to the armrests, relaxing. "I was born into a family of werewolves. I had two sisters, Laura and Cora, our parents, and an uncle, aunt, and niece. My mother was a powerful alpha and we lived a life integrated in the everyday life here in Beacon Hills, as much as it was possible. You know the vet, Dr. Deaton?"

"Yeah."

"He was our emissary. That's a . . ."

Stiles interrupted. "An ambassador?"

Derek nodded. "Yes, a human advisor, and sometimes middleman, between us werewolves and the humans. There were groups of humans hunting us, had always been, kind of a werewolf police I guess you can say, killing werewolves that were hurting or killing humans. But some hunters didn't follow their own rules, their codex to hunt only the werewolves hurting humans. A woman I thought was my girlfriend, Kate, was actually one of the hunters gone rogue, and she burned down our house, killing my parents, my aunt, and her little girl."

Stiles gasped, crossing his arms over his stomach. "Oh no!"

"Well, my uncle was so badly burned, he was in the hospital in coma, Laura became the alpha and we decided to move to New York, to get away from here. Cora was the baby in the family, always going her own ways and wanted to break out and see the world, you know?"

Stiles nodded, muttered, "Typical third child."

"She lived with us for a while in New York, but one day she ran away. That was the last time I saw her was about twenty years ago." Derek leaned his head on the high backrest, combing his fingers into his hair as he looked up at the ceiling. "Shortly after she was gone, we heard about killings in Beacon Hills, and Laura went to investigate it, fearing it could be our sister."

Derek went quiet. He had his eyes closed. "Laura didn't come back, so I went after her." Derek lifted up his head to look at Stiles. "Laura was the girl in two pieces. That's how I came to know your dad, because he blamed me at first. Then I found the one who had murdered her. It was Peter, my uncle, pretending to still be in coma."

"But why would he kill his own niece?"

"He wanted to become an alpha, and he did."

Stiles had no idea what that meant.

"Meanwhile, Kate came back for unknown reasons, and Peter killed her too. I proved to your dad Kate had burned down our house and that Peter had killed Laura and Kate."

Derek leaned forward, speaking lower, but clear. "That was when it happened."

Stiles leaned forward too, eager to hear more.

"One day when I woke up in the abandoned train station I lived in, I was unable to change or to heal, and my senses were like yours. I was basically a human."

"What had happened?" Stiles asked immediately.

Derek sighed, leaning back in his chair again. "I don't know." He was quiet for a while. "I don't think anyone knows what changed, but twenty years ago, werewolves became seemingly like humans. We can't change others by biting them, or we can't see if they become werewolves after the bite, at least. I believe the only new werewolves are the children of werewolves."

He watched Stiles intently as Stiles' brain raced with images and thoughts. Then he jumped up. "Talia? She's Cora's daughter! You mean she might be a werewolf?"

He stood staring at Derek, his fists balled up.

Derek raised his eyebrows. "I thought you didn't believe in werewolves?"

Stiles deflated, sinking down in his chair again. "I don't."

"Anyway," Derek said lightly. "The same day I woke up like a human, I finally found Peter, and I beat him to a pulp. He's still in the hospital, in a permanent vegetative state, and, as I said, unable to heal himself. He's finally got the punishment he deserves for killing my sister."

It fit together. Derek had an answer for everything, and he made it sound believable, but of course, it was not the truth. Werewolves for real? What was next: vampires, trolls, witches, fairies, and unicorns? He snorted.

Derek was quiet, watching him. "What are you thinking?"

"You're friends with my dad, right?"

Derek nodded. "Sort of."

"SO, does he know about werewolves?"

Derek shook his head. "No. We've always kept quiet about our existence. Werewolves have a history of persecution and of being feared. Just think back to the alleged witches in the Medieval Age burned to death, and I guess you can understand our secrecy."

"Yeah." Stiles almost wanted to believe Derek, but it was too. . . crazy, for lack of a better word. Derek was truly delusional. "What about Cora? Did my dad meet her while you lived here?"

"Not to my knowledge," Derek said, combing his fingers through his hair, making it stick up. "But the old sheriff and I haven't really spoken much, and I wouldn't call us friends, more like we know of each other."

Stiles scratched his chest then rubbed at his ear. "Okay, I accept that you think you're a werewolf. That's probably the best answer I can give you. So, what now?"

"I understand you can't believe me, and it doesn't matter. We werewolves are technically like humans now. Since there's no way to prove it, newborn werewolves don't know what they truly are."

Stiles stroked his underarm. "If their parents told them they could be werewolves, others would think they're crazy, right?"

Derek stared hard at Stiles, and Stiles frowned at him. "What?"

"Use your brain, Stiles."

Stiles didn't get what Derek meant.

Derek sighed. "Think about your work?"

"My work? What's that got to do with anything?" He paused, confused. His work, at the hospital as a doctor. "You mean, if werewolves told anyone they believed they weren't human, they could be considered psychotic."

Derek looked at him pointedly. "Like self-healing monsters? Delusional?"

Stiles jumped up. "That can't be! There's always been people around believing they are someone else or some_thing_ else, that they have super powers or are different from others."

"And some of those admitted to mental hospitals in the last twenty years actually _are_ werewolves," Derek said, a matter-of-factly.

Goosebumps erupted all over Stiles' body. "Lahey," he whispered, shuddering. "Shit."

"Your patient?"

"Yeah." Stiles rubbed his forehead, needing to be vague about his patient. "I guess it's okay for me to tell you I had a patient once that might have believed he was a werewolf."

"That actually _was_ a werewolf." Derek corrected him.

Stiles looked up at him. "Does it matter?"

Derek shook his head, scratching at his knee. "No. Not at all. I like this, actually. I'm glad we're not werewolves anymore, but ordinary humans. It's all for the better."

"So, it's been like this for twenty years." Stiles mused, rubbing over his mouth with his finger. "Whatever caused the change, might change back?"

Derek shrugged. "I have no idea. If it were ever to happen, I'd expect there to be chaos, all around the world. Teenage werewolves having no idea what's happening to them, older ones not having control over themselves anymore."

Stiles smiled at the thought. "You should write this down and sell it as a manuscript for a horror movie or a TV series!"

Derek stared at him for a second. "I understand why you don't believe me, Stiles, but this is for real. Can you try to imagine that scenario actually happening? All the people who would get killed, and the fear that would spread all around the world?"

Stiles' mouth turned down at the sides, looking sorrowfully at Derek. "No, not really. I've watched my share of disaster movies, though." Then he remembered why he'd come to Derek in the first place. "Is this why McCall told me to be careful of you? He knows you believe you're a werewolf?"

Derek watched him calmly. "McCall knows about werewolves existing. After all, his son is one."

"What?" Stiles shouted, throwing his arms up in the air. "Scott's a werewolf?"

Derek shrugged. "Yeah, Peter bit him the night you and Scott were in the forest looking for Laura. After I realized what Peter had done, I went to Scott's house and took care of him." He looked up at Stiles. "Remember that Scott was a werewolf for a short time before we became like humans again."

"That must have happened after my dad caught me in the woods." He tried to think back to that night, but too much time had passed since then. "It was after that night Scott started to. . . slip away from me."

"Becoming a werewolf is a huge change, Stiles, and even if I helped him out, it wasn't easy for him. He also had the problem with Allison."

Stiles frowned at him. "What about her?"

"Remember the human hunters I told you about? Kate who burned our house? She was Allison's aunt. The whole family were hunters, had been for generations. And now Scott was one of the werewolves Allison was supposed to hunt."

"Oh, God!" Stiles gasped. "Poor Scott!"

Derek looked at him with what could be called fondness. "I think Scott would have told you sooner or later if it hadn't been for the big change for us soon after."

It all fit together. Like this could actually be right. "So, if I go to Scott and Allison to ask them, what would they answer?"

"I presume they'd tell you my story's bullshit. You must realize the dangers we place ourselves in if we speak about this to others. Who would believe us? Would anyone be our friends or loved ones? We'd risk losing our jobs and our lives."

Derek's gaze was warm, looking at Stiles. "Not everyone thinks like you, Stiles, and is willing to try to accept differences. You said earlier today that as long as you trusted me, you'd be okay with me not being like everyone else."

"I remember," Stiles said quietly. "I'd like to_ think_ I can be accepting . . . " He sighed, trailing off.

"But you need some time," Derek stated, dipping his head. "Of course."

Stiles held his hand in front of his mouth, yawning. "I've had an extremely long day."

"I know." Derek got up, shook his legs. "Thank you for listening to me, I appreciate it."

Stiles stood too, and stretched. "No problem. Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me."

Derek followed him out in the hall, watching as Stiles sat down on the stairs to put his shoes on, unwilling bastards with long laces. Finally done, he reached for Derek, grabbing him in for a hug. Derek patted his back before letting go.

"If the weather's better tomorrow, I'll continue to paint the house. Will I see you there?" Stiles asked as he opened the door. Derek took the door handle from him, leaning against the doorjamb as Stiles went out on the porch.

"I have to work tomorrow. But I want to talk to you again soon. And I'd like to meet Talia as her uncle in the near future."

Stiles agreed, swinging his car key around his finger. "Sure. I have to speak to Dad first, and then tell Talia and Melissa. I don't think I'll be able to keep her away from you then!" He grinned, and was blinded by Derek's returning smile. Stiles' feet faltered a little before he could catch himself. He waved awkwardly.

"Bye!"

Finally back home, Melissa was still up when he came inside, and he leaned down to hug her where she sat on the couch, knitting. "Hey."

"You all right, Stiles?" She looked up at him, frowning. He sat down beside her as she rolled up her yarn, placing it in the bag beside her.

"Yes, I'm fine. I've just had an exhausting day, is all."

"I can tell." She patted his hand. "Your father told me about Scott's dad's visit."

Stiles looked up to her eyes. He knew she didn't like the agent, and was his biggest critic.

She confirmed his belief, saying, "I'm glad you threw him out, but your dad is right, Stiles. You should be careful with him."

"I will," he promised. "Don't worry." He got up, yawning. "Will you sleep over or go back to your apartment?"

She stood up too, holding her hand at the small of her back. "Since you're back home I'll sleep in my own bed tonight. My back's acting up again."

"Oh, you should have told me!" Stiles scolded. "I don't want to ask you to stay on the couch with a sore back!"

Melissa grabbed his shoulder, pinning him with her gaze. "You need to trust me to tell you if I can't help out. My back problem is from my nursing days."

Like so many other nurses and health workers. "I remember." He followed her to the door, and waited as she started the car. He waved at her, before he looked up to the sky. There were no stars to be seen. It would probably not be painting weather the following day.

* * *

In the morning, Stiles looked out of the window in his bedroom to decide what Talia needed to wear. It was better than he'd expected; a little cloudy, but much lighter than the day before.

After their breakfast, when Talia was on her way to school, he finally called the internet company, and they promised to come the same day or the next. He'd be painting alone today, and he remembered he'd packed his mp3-player in his bag, so went to his room to look for it. He still hadn't unpacked his stuff completely and his room was a mess. He'd clean it up later, but for now he had a house to paint.

Humming to himself, he checked that his music player was loaded, told his dad he'd be outside, and pulled his painting shoes on. He scrolled through the albums, trying to choose something fitting to listen to, something with a soothing background to his thoughts.

He placed the ear plugs in, opened the paint can with the screwdriver he used for it, and grabbed the brush from the mineral spirits. Up on the ladder, he hung the can on the hook before he went another step up. Painting would be a form of meditation for him today: Lord knows, he had a lot to think about.

Eventually, he moved the ladder to the left and went up two steps to continue painting. He reached out to swing his brush when someone grabbed his arm. He flailed, gasping, and the brush fell to the ground as he tried to twist without falling.

Dark, unkempt hair and dull, frightened brown eyes.

Hollow cheeks.

Cora.

Stiles fell on his butt down to the wet grass, heart racing, and brain short circuiting. "Cora!" he shouted, but she leaned down beside him, closing his mouth with her thin hand.

"Shh! You idiot!" She quickly searched the garden, body tense like a frightened animal, ready to bolt. He got a good look at her face close up; she was dirty, but under the grime, her skin was white and fragile looking.

Her gaze snapped back to his, eyes sunken yet burning. "Quiet!" she said, tone urgent.

He nodded, silent, and she retracted her hand. "Stiles, I had to show myself to you. You must protect Talia. With everything you have." Her voice was low and frantic, desperate.

"Of course," he whispered. "I always do."

"You're not in San Francisco anymore, all right? This is Beacon Hills!" she spat. "Totally different."

"What makes it different? What's to be careful about?" He grabbed her arm. "Please, tell me so I know what to protect Talia from!"

"There's no time." Her head jerked up, and she stared out in the direction of the street like a fox sensing danger. "Stick to Derek, and listen to all he tells you. He can be an ignorant jerk, but he'd do anything for Talia if you tell him about her."

Stiles nodded frantically. "He already knows. But Cora, you're not talking about the werewolf idea he's got?"

Her gaze whipped back to his, eyes wide. "He's told you?"

"Yes!"

"Then you have to be really careful." Her gaze softened. "I'm glad he's told you, so you know to keep your mouth shut. Listen to him!" She grabbed Stiles' shirt, pulling him up an inch from the ground, surprisingly strong for such a frail frame. "But now you must listen to me: It's dangerous to stay here, and don't speak to anyone but him about werewolves. There're powerful hunters here, doing anything they can to stop people from knowing-from chaos spreading."

Stiles slumped down on the ground as she extracted her hands. Lying on his back, he wanted to tell her to show herself to Derek, to let him take her to a doctor, but she'd already bent down, hightailing over the lawn, her worn-out clothes barely hanging on her. She jumped over the fence, disappearing into the forest.

Gone as fast as she'd appeared.

Stiles lay there, wet, shocked and miserable. Cora had completely lost it. That's why she had disappeared five years ago-she'd become psychotic.

* * *

Thank you for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

Lying on the ground, Stiles saw the sky above was gray, probably like the hollow emptiness in his chest would look like if it had a color. He had to get up, had to change his wet clothes, take a warm shower, and call Derek, but the energy he needed for merely getting up from the grass seemed impossible to muster.

The first years Cora had been missing, Stiles still hoped to find her alive someday, hoped she'd moved on voluntarily to something she wanted more than her child and her work. The last year or so, he'd believed she was dead, but now . . . She was neither dead nor living a better life.

Seemed like Cora had the same mental disease as her brother, though admittedly picked the shorter straw of the two of them. If she'd stayed in San Francisco, she'd probably have been one of the patients in and out of his ward: homeless, sick and starving, unable to follow up their medication when they were released, living a hard life that would make anyone sick at some point.

Stiles sat up, head spinning as he found the energy to get up on his knees. He'd landed on his mp3-player when he fell from the ladder. It was muddy after he'd pressed it into the wet grass, and the screen was black, dead. Tucking it into his jacket pocket, he placed the lid on what was left of the overturned can he'd used, the grass under it yellow with paint. He found the brush in the flower bed, full of leaves, and he left it there.

Patting his clothing, he found his cell in his jeans pocket. Perhaps he'd get Derek to come here. The thought of going to his store to talk to him felt too exhausting. If he told him about Cora, Derek would be hammering on Stiles' front door by the time he was finished with his shower.

Finding Derek in his phone book, he scrambled over to the front door, pressing the call button, and didn't see the black car screeching to a halt next to him before it was too late. Two men jumped out, pushed him into the backseat, forcing him into handcuffs and blindfolds. He tried to scream, he really did, but shock made his throat clam up, and all he could get out was a wheeze.

"Go! Go! Go!" a man cried beside him, and he felt the car speed up, its wheels screaming at the crossroad. All Stiles could think was that he hoped Talia was not on her way home now, happening to be in the way of the car while riding her bike.

Stiles' cell lay back in the front yard of his house.

* * *

Panic made Stiles' heart pump hard, sending norepinephrine from his adrenals through his arteries, and all his earlier fatigue was thrown out the tinted window, his senses suddenly becoming crystal clear. He'd tried forcing the hands holding him to let go, but all it did was making them grip him harder, pressing him against leather seats smelling of cigars.

His captors stayed quiet, so Stiles tried to listen for sounds from outside the car, so he could tell the police where he'd been taken. Other cars, horns, bicycle bells and laughter made him think they could be downtown. A few minutes passed, and when they stopped, it was all quiet outside the car. Someone hauled him up, and Stiles tried to wiggle free, making a man grunt as he got a knee jammed up in something soft—hopefully in his captor's balls—but kept him up.

"Hey!" Stiles screamed as loud as he could, finally finding his voice. "Help!"

"Want me to quiet him down?" a voice asked by his side, but Stiles didn't hear any answer. He was carried like a sack of potatoes until he was set down on the floor, the blindfold ripped off his face like a band-aid.

"What the actual fuck?" Blinking at the sudden light, he turned his head frantically. He was in some kind of basement, white walls, long empty corridor ahead. Three military clothed men wearing ski masks stood behind him, one of them the size of a bouncer.

"Hey, asshole! Let me out of these." He wriggled his cuffed hands, "so I can smack that mask right off your face. Kneeing you in the balls didn't do any good, since neither of you have got any in the first place!"

The bouncer growled, lifting Stiles up by the back of his jacket, and Stiles struggled to stand since his hands were behind his back. Something pressed to his back, hard, like—oh my God! A gun?—and he instantly walked down the corridor, two of the men coming up on his sides, leading him by his upper arms.

Over the door at the end, there was an old plate with engraved, swirly letters, saying:

_Nous chassons ceux qui nous chassent_

The man on Stiles' right punched a code on a keypad on the wall. The door opened, and they led him through another corridor, this one with old wooden walls and a strong smell of musty basement. Cobwebs hanging low where the roof met the walls, dusty floor—this corridor was rarely in use.

As they came to a crossing, and Stiles' suspicion was confirmed when his captors hesitated.

"Which way?" the guy on the left said.

The guy behind Stiles grumbled, "Right." They turned, a door in sight at the darker end. It opened up as they approached, and bright light shone into the corridor, the room inside white, no windows, but several fluorescent lamps hanging from the roof.

A small table stood in the center of the room and a second door were the only things in the room. Stiles sat down hard when he was pushed into one of the two chairs. "What the hell's going on?"

He didn't get any answers. Two of his captors went out the door, but the smaller one remained, his back to the wall. Stiles gasped when the door they'd come through wasn't visible anymore. Stiles yelled at him. "Where am I? Why am I here? Take these cuffs off me, God dammit!"

The guard didn't even look at him.

Frustration seeded through him, panic and fright making it hard to sit still. He had no idea how long he'd been sitting there when then the door in front of him opened again, this time with one man entering.

Fucking McCall.

Stiles should have known. Only _he_ would be this dramatic and hungry to show his power. Un-fucking-believable.

McCall smirked. Stiles should had rearranged his stupid face a long time ago. Why hadn't he, again? Something about thinking his own mouth was his best weapon? Well, he regretted ever believing it now.

Stiles sputtered, "Don't think for a second you'll get away with this McCall. I am going to make life a living hell for you, you goddamn son of a bitch!"

McCall calmly pulled out the other chair, sat down and folded his hands on the table in front of him, a pleasant expression unfolding on his pig-face. No, pigs were prettier. Poor pigs, having Stiles compare them to this ogre.

Stiles tried to relax, telling himself this was only Scott's dad after all. Stiles had known him practically his whole life. "You won't do anything to me."

One of McCall's eyebrows rose. "And what makes you so sure of that, boy?"

"Because I know you're a loser, pathetic in your attempts to give meaning to your life through a power-mad FBI force when everything else has crumbled beneath your feet."

McCall didn't smile anymore, he stared blankly at Stiles' face. "Are you done, child?"

Stiles set his mouth in a strict line, but confirmed it. He wanted answers to why he was here—asap.

"Okay." McCall gestured to the guard with a wave of his fingers. "Leave us alone. This punk won't do anything to _me_."

The guard left, and Stiles watched as a huge grin spread like fire in dry grass on McCall's face.

"Finally, alone."

Stiles swallowed uncomfortably, squirming, wishing his hands were free.

"I wonder what you'll say when I tell you that I've already done something to you." McCall pretended to ponder, tapping his lip, before he stopped, leaning forward, the motion making him look like an owl. "I've decided it's time you get in on a few secrets of mine, boy. You don't deserve the pleasure of knowledge, but you need to learn your place in this world, and to keep your mouth shut in the future."

Stiles frowned, pressing his lips together. He wanted to yell and scream, but throwing a tantrum wouldn't get him anywhere here. And he wanted to know these secrets. What on earth did McCall know that Stiles didn't?

McCall smiled pleasantly at him. "I see I have your full attention. Good." He leaned back, looking gleeful. "I have_ two_ secrets to share with you, and I'm going to tell you the most interesting one first, then . . . when I have you where I want you . . . I'm going to hammer the nail into your coffin."

Holy shit! Was McCall going to shoot him? Stiles twisted in his seat to look at the agent's belt. Surely, a gun hung there. Was that why he'd wanted to be alone with him? To kill him and claim it was in self-defence? Stiles searched the ceiling, looking for security cameras.

McCall rolled his eyes. "I'm not going to kill you, boy! If I decide to do so, I won't do it at my own workplace! I have better ways to make you disappear from the surface of the earth. And if you don't believe me now, you will later!

"So," the agent paused, "are we clear?"

Stiles jerked his head once.

"Good! First, I'll talk to you about the biggest secret in America, probably in the whole world."

Stiles scoffed. Grandiose much?

"You don't believe me? Hm, we'll see about that." McCall looked calculating, then he threw his arm out. "This is where I work."

Stiles snorted. "Big secret, huh?"

McCall ignored him. "You were taken under The FBI National Firearms Center, led through the secret passage into this department. You're now sitting at the lowest level of DWA. You know what it's short for?"

Stiles shook his head. He wanted to know.

"Department of Werewolf Affairs."

Stiles fell off his chair, but scrambled up on his knees hurriedly, ignoring the burning in his hip from where it had harshly met the concrete floor.

McCall twisted in his seat to look at him, laughing, but Stiles ignored it and sat up in his chair again, his gaze locked with the agent's.

"I see." McCall's calm voice irritated Stiles. "You've recently come across the word werewolf or else you wouldn't have had such a strong reaction. So it's all as I suspected. But of course it is."

Stiles needed to keep his head clear now, the warnings from Derek, Melissa, his dad, but particularly Cora's, fresh in his mind. "What do you mean? Werewolves don't exist." That much he knew.

McCall gave a harsh laugh. "Of course they do. Why else would we have this department if they didn't?"

"But . . . " Stiles tried, the wheels in his head turning. Was McCall suffering from the exact same delusion as both Derek and Cora did? Two siblings sharing the same mental illness he easily bought—that wasn't unusual—but what were the odds of a third person in the same town? An FBI agent no less?

McCall gave him a thoughtful look. "A werewolf has told you about their existence, but you didn't believe it. You thought they was delusional, right? To be a shrink working with acutely psychotic people, you're pretty dense when it comes to your private life. To see clearly what's right in front of you."

McCall leaned forward. "Was it Derek who told you, or Scott?"

Stiles pressed his lips together.

"Deaton? Ms. Blake?"

Stiles gaped. What the hell— ? Talia's teacher? What did she has to do with anything? She was just a pretty and sweet English teacher. Sure, Derek had mentioned Deaton, and Stiles would probably had paid the vet a visit eventually to sort him out of all this madness, but Talia's teacher?

"Okay, not them." The agent leaned back, crossed his arms, puffed out his chest like he thought it was an impressive one. "Isaac Lahey was admitted on suspicion ofdelusions. If he'd admitted to you that he was a werewolf, you wouldn't have sent him out again so soon." He paused as the corner of his mouth twisted, like a sneer. "It was Cora, wasn't it?"

Stiles' mind spun. "You don't actually believe this shit, do you?"

"Oh, you thick-headed fool. How you were able to pass your medical exam is beyond me."

Stiles sighed. Okay, so he'd pretend to believe. "Why are you telling me this if it's supposed to be a secret?"

"I'm not telling you anything you haven't already been told!" McCall jerked forwards, and Stiles jumped back, not expecting the manic expression on the agent's face. "Because it needs to _remain_ a secret, of course! Don't you understand anything? We can't have a psychiatrist running around knowing about werewolves existence, asking questions, and meeting up with the monsters at work!"

"But no one would believe me!" Stiles shot up his arms in the air.

McCall leaned back again. "Still, you are a potential threat: you might help the werewolves come in contact with each other, to find each other, and conspire against us! You need to be shut down one way or another, like any other threat to this department does. You'll sign legal papers, and . . now we're coming to my other secret—the icing on the cake."

McCall jumped up, circled the table to grab the front of Stiles' jacket, pulling him up from his chair, nose to nose. "I know what'll make you quiet for the rest of your life, boy."

McCall threw Stiles back, and he landed on top of his fallen chair, pain piercing his back as he lay in a heap on the floor. McCall stood over him, pointing to Stiles' face. "If you don't do exactly what I say, I will finish what I started five years ago," he wheezed. Stiles' heart hammered wildly.

"Your father had a nasty habit of sticking his nose where it didn't belong. The man's been after my wife since you and Scott became friends, drooling down her breasts even before your mother was cold in her grave!"

"That is not true!" Stiles roared, seeing red. "They've never been anything but friends! Now tell me what the hell you did five years ago!"

McCall's face contorted. "I'm right and nothing you, she, nor the sheriff says matters!" he spat. "Your old man strutted around the preserve like he owned the goddamn forest himself, poking and prying at this building. So proud of the shiny star on his chest, thinking he was untouchable. Then you got that filthy werewolf cub of yours, the sheriff hung out with Derek, and probably Cora as well. It was all a matter of days before he'd have found out the truth!"

He was spitting Stiles in the face as his words spewed out, cheeks blotchy, eyes wide and gaze far away. "I'd made the perfect plan; to take both your father and the liberation pack's lair in one go, but the pack changed their plans at the very last minute! Only Duke was there, and of course, he can't shoot when he can't see, so he was set free instead of getting the blame. And then your father refused to die after I made the clean shot right through his brain!"

* * *

The door flung open, Allison and Chris stormed inside, but Stiles barely registered it. There was yelling and shouting and pain as Stiles lay on the floor in shock, his body trembling. His brain gave his body some peace when all he could do was listen to the high-pitched sound ringing in his ears.

A hand stroked his cheek softly, patting. "Stiles, honey," Allison said beside him.

He turned his face towards her voice. Opened his eyes.

She was close, concerned. "Hey." She smiled softly, relief shining from the light in her eyes.

Stiles sat up taking her offered hand, and sank back on his chair, dizzy. A man in a suit came inside, pressed a paper cup of water in Stiles' hand, which he emptied gratefully. "What the hell happened here?" he asked Allison, his voice sounding like he'd been screaming for hours. Neither Chris nor McCall were in the room, but one of his kidnappers stood leaning against the wall.

Allison frowned deeply, sitting down in the other chair. "You tell me. Greenberg here," she jerked her thumb to the kidnapper, "came to me, informing me what McCall had ordered them to do and that you were in here with him alone. That's all completely out of protocol."

Stiles dipped his chin to the man in thanks. He thought he might recognize him from his high school days, but he wasn't sure.

Allison drew her chair closer to Stiles'. "I was on my way here when I got a call from Scott. Melissa found your cell outside your house, your car still in the driveway, and your father uninformed of your whereabouts. The last person you'd called was Derek, so she rang him up, but when he'd answered your call earlier, all he could hear was birds chirping. Obviously she called Scott."

She fished her cell out of her pocket. "I know they're worried, so I'll text them to let them know you're here." Then she stood up. "Damn, there's no reception down here. Let's go up to my office. We'll talk, now that you're already here and informed. Before you leave, I have papers for you to sign for ensuring your silence."

Stiles followed her out of the door. She wore a black suit over a white shirt, not the badass gear he'd imagined previously. It was probably for the best. "Your office?" He rubbed the back of his head, discovering a sore bump. He still felt a little dizzy, but he blamed it all on McCall's words.

"Yeah." She turned to smile, her long brown hair in a thick braid over her shoulder. She led the way into an elevator and they went out at the top floor. There the corridor was inviting with green plants on the floor and paintings on the walls, and on either side were rows of offices, all with see-through glass doors.

"This is my room." She stopped by a large corner office with a plate by the door, saying:

_Ms. Allison Argent, executive director of Department of Werewolf Affairs_

* * *

"Fuck!" Stiles gasped, pressing his hand to his heart, suddenly not so sure if he could take any more shocks today.

Allison grabbed his upper arm, led him to a comfy armchair in the corner. She lifted his feet up on the low sill of a huge window facing the top of the green preserve. "That's my favorite seat at work," she said, pressing a button on her coffeemaker. It pinged and started pouring. Birds flew from the treetops, up to the gray sky.

"Here." She pressed the cup into Stiles' hand, gestured to the fruit bowl on the table beside him. He grabbed some grapes, needing higher blood sugar, anything to keep his mind focused.

Allison sat down, studying him as he ate and drank, and he was grateful for the short break it gave him.

"Allison," he said finally. "I have a strong suspicion that McCall has a paranoid personality disorder. He should be observed as an inpatient over time, but he'll probably never agree to it voluntarily—hardly any with that medical condition do. It'll also be hard to make him agree to any potential treatment, but since he's been able to live an approximately ordinary life so far, to keep his job and get so high up in the system here, he might be well enough to go to prison instead of forced psychiatric treatment."

Allison held up her palms. "Hold on! I have to stop you there. High up in the system? He's not been for five-six years now. After that episode where your dad got shot, he's barely been able to keep his office job, as I see it. The only reason he's still here is because I've felt sorry for him. You should see his apartment, it's utter chaos." She shook her head, looking remorseful. "After what's happened today, I see I've been handling him with kid gloves."

"Okay…" Stiles started, paused to think, but his brain was hard to get to function. "He has several serious symptoms, and it might actually be PDD. Stress can trigger it to become a psychosis. He definitely needs observation, and help." He gripped his hair. "But most importantly: he admitted to shooting my dad!"

She frowned at him. "I don't think he did that, Stiles. There's something wrong with him, I'd admit that, but he wouldn't try to kill someone!"

Frustration boiled up in him. "Please tell me you have security cameras in the interrogation room! He told me he'd planned to take out my dad and the liberty group, or something . . . "

Allison stared at him, whispering, "The liberation pack." Then she sagged back in her chair, looking out on the forest for a second, but suddenly she jumped up, yelled, "Oh my God!" and was out the door. If Stiles hadn't felt dizzy already, she definitely would have made him.

The woman in the opposite office next door peeked her head out of her door. "Everything all right in there?"

"Not really," Stiles muttered, trying to swallow down the need to cry. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he concentrated on his breathing. He needed someone to distract him from the thoughts that pressed on—it was all too much.

Knocking on the open door, Chris came inside the office, looking concerned when he saw Stiles' face. "How're you feeling?"

"Like I can't take anymore." His voice was gruff when he tried to make a joke, "Like I need a Diazepam."

Chris bent down beside him, his gaze flickering over Stiles' form. "I'm not sure what to do with you right now. Melissa's yelling at me for refusing to let her see you, you look like you've been through hell, and my coworker is going bananas on the next floor."

Stiles jerked his head up. "Bananas? You need to contain McCall and make sure he doesn't harm anyone or himself. He's a potential threat to everyone."

Chris nodded thoughtfully. "We've got it. Don't worry."

Stiles sighed. "Don't worry? Chris, he told me he shot my dad in cold blood, and …" He jumped up, started striding back and forth with renewed energy. "What _is_ this place? Werewolf Affairs?" He stopped in front of the other man who had stood up too. "Can you please give me an answer right now?" The thought that he could have become psychotic himself suddenly hit him, or perhaps it was all some kind of horribly misplaced prank. He did not care—he had to ask.

"Do werewolves actually exist?"

Chris gaped at him. "Uhm, yes?"

"_Uhm, yes_? That's your answer?"

"Yes, Stiles, they actually exist. I thought you'd got it considering you're currently residing in the heart of Nemeton."

* * *

Thank you for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

Stiles felt himself being led through corridors and stairs as if through a haze, an elevator lowering, a car driving. This had to be what it would feel like to run a marathon without any training whatsoever, to fall over the finishing line, chest constricting and pulse thundering. Then Melissa was there, Scott, his father. Derek? They all crowded around him, making it impossible to catch a breath, like they were pushing him into a tiny room without oxygen.

When he opened his eyes, lids heavy like he'd been crying for hours, Stiles lay in his bed, the room dark, and Talia's body curled up against his, her breathing steady against his bare chest. His throat felt like sandpaper, coughing didn't help, but Melissa was at the door and then by his side in an instant.

"Sweetie. You need anything?" She stroked his hair back from his sweaty forehead.

"Uhm," he croaked. "Water?" He looked down at his sleeping kid. It felt so good holding her right now, his lifeline, and he didn't want to wake her up by shifting around.

Melissa went out in the hall, and Stiles could hear water running in the bathroom. A minute later she was there, offering him a glass, wet with dew. He emptied it greedily, placing it on the nightstand. Talia breathed deeply still, so he dared ask Melissa, "Did Allison tell you what happened?"

She looked concerned, stroking his hair. "She told me you were at her work, nothing more. I was worried when I found your cell outside, so I ended up calling Scott."

"Yeah, she told me. Thank you for worrying. I . . . " he paused, hesitating. Allison probably didn't want him to say what her work really entailed; she'd told him about papers for him to sign. For now, he'd treat it like the duty of confidentiality at his work. And even if he told Melissa everything—or anything—she'd never believe him. "I visited Allison at work and lost my phone when she came to pick me up. I hit my head there." He felt the back of his head where the lump still was sore. The best lies had root in reality.

"Okay." Melissa smiled softly at him, trusting. Stiles wouldn't worry her for anything, but soon he'd need to ask her about her ex, and eventually she'd know what McCall had done to his father. Melissa would be invaluable as a witness in the trial.

* * *

Stiles woke up when Talia poked him in his back. "Dad, I'm going to school. Are you getting up to say goodbye to me?"

He turned, groaning when he became fully conscious. Fuck, school! Ms. Blake. McCall seemed to think she was a werewolf, or someone knowing about their existence. Was she a threat to Talia? A decision had to be made right this second.

"Okay, sweetie." He sat up, kissed her cheek and ruffled her hair so it fell over both of their faces before she straightened. "Have a great day at school, and we'll talk when you get home. I'll make spaghetti with meatballs tonight, all right?"

"Yes! And dessert!" She grinned, leaning in to kiss Stiles' cheek too, making his heart sing. She was so beautiful, inside and out. "Can I bring Nate over?"

"Sure," he agreed. He was so out of it, he'd say yes to anything right now, so he was relieved when she ran down the stairs before asking him for a dog—again. He heard her yell, "Bye, Grandpa." After slamming the door behind her, he stood up, scratching his chest while staring out of the window, towards the forest. Just another day in peaceful Beacon Hills, right?

Stiles sighed, wishing he had a way of contacting Cora, to make her come stay with them, to ask her all of his questions. Wherever she was, it wasn't doing her any good. He'd make sure McCall, or whoever was threatening Cora and making her hide, never found her—and Derek would help him.

He took a long shower, dressed in hoodie and sweatpants, and went downstairs to get some breakfast—giving the day the best starting point.

His dad was listening to the news on the radio in the kitchen, but pushed at his notebook when Stiles came inside, a message already written._You all right?_

Stiles smiled at him, trying for convincing. "Yeah, I'm good."

He switched on the coffee maker, turning his back to his dad to collect himself, keeping his hands busy with routine work. He'd need lots of caffeine to get his brain going today, but even before his first cup, it wasn't difficult to instantly come to the conclusion that safety came first. Always. Since neither Derek nor McCall believed his father knew about werewolves, Stiles would do his best to keep him unaware of werewolves, for his dad's own safety.

"Sorry I didn't tell you I was leaving yesterday," Stiles said, trying to sound light, staring at the coffee dripping into the pot. "Allison came over on the spur of the moment to ask if I wanted to come see her work place, you know?" He shrugged, turning to check he had his dad's attention.

The old sheriff sat staring out of the window, gave his usual grunt to say he'd got it. Guess that was enough explanation for the moment, then.

* * *

They were listening to the radio together, Stiles halfway into his second cup of coffee, when the doorbell rang. He jumped up, thinking it could be Derek coming to help him paint, but it was the woman from the cable company. He greeted her, showing her inside, relieved to finally be able to catch up on news and start researching this whole new world that had opened up these last days.

After the woman had done her magic and left, he nervously texted Derek, asking if he was working or if he could come over. Placing his cell down on the counter, the doorbell rang for the second time that morning, making Stiles' heart skipped in his chest. For some reason he was expecting Cora to show up again. In hindsight, it seemed like she knew danger coming around the corner in the form of the black car when she ran into the forest yesterday. What would it take for her to show herself again to him?

It was Derek at the door, looking Stiles up and down worriedly.

"Hey," Stiles said, his voice sounding breathless to his own ears. Had Derek always looked this gorgeous? "You got my text?"

"Yeah, in your driveway." A frown creased Derek's forehead. Damn, even his frown was sexy. "What happened to you yesterday?"

Stiles flicked his eyes to the side, trying to convey that his dad could hear them. "I was visiting Allison at work. I'm sorry you all worried for nothing." He stared hard at Derek who still frowned at him, so Stiles mouthed: _My dad's here._

Finally, Derek dipped his head in understanding, and cleared his voice. "You want to go for a run in the preserve?" He said it louder than was strictly necessary.

Stiles smiled at him. Great plan. He jerked his thumb to the stairs. "I'll get my gear, okay?"

"Sure," Derek agreed, following inside, going into the kitchen to the old sheriff.

Stiles raced upstairs, throwing open the door to his room. He didn't really have any running gear—he didn't own any exercise equipment at all—but he ruffled through the chaos, pleased when he found a somewhat clean t-shirt and his shorts with only a few yellow stains on it. He grabbed them, sincerely hoping it was for show, and that Derek wasn't serious about them going for a run. Because if he put aside the obvious—that he'd never be able to keep up with the man—Stiles couldn't be held responsible for his own actions if he was exposed to Derek's sweaty chest for even a short period of time.

Down again in the kitchen, Derek stood up, his gaze never leaving Stiles' after he entered the room while his father's gaze flickered between the two of them. His old man had always been quick on the uptake, but Stiles couldn't care for a second what he read into it—he needed time alone with Derek.

Stiles flicked his head to the door. "Let's go?"

Derek strode outside, like a man on a mission, and Stiles hurried to follow, just taking time to call out to his dad. "I'll be home for dinner, at the latest."

* * *

Derek cut the engine outside his house, the car key in his fist when Stiles placed his own fingers over it. Derek's gaze snapped to Stiles', staring surprised, their hands still in the air and touching.

Stiles hesitated, not sure where to start. "I have important news for you."

Derek jerked his head to his house as they got out of the car. "Let's go inside then."

"Great." Stiles smiled, closing the car door and leaving his running gear in it. "I was afraid I'd have to run around the preserve at your pace _and_talk at the same time. You'd be the death of me."

Derek unlocked the front door. "It was all I could come up with off the top of my head as an excuse to get you here."

Stiles pulled off his shoes and hung his jacket up. "I don't think my dad bought it. He looked at us like-" He smiled faintly. "-like he was trying to figure out if we were dating, or something."

Derek's hand was still on the peg where he'd hung up his jacket, staring at Stiles, and it made Stiles' stomach flutter, wondering what Derek was thinking. "I know now you're a werewolf. I know you told me the truth."

"What?" Derek frowned doubtfully. "How?"

"I have a lot to tell you." Stiles jerked his thumb to the kitchen, eyeing Derek. "You should sit down for it."

"Okay," Derek agreed easily, clearly completely unaware of all Stiles had been through in the last twenty-four hours. Sitting down at the kitchen table, this time it was a clear morning, and the sun shone the colors of the forest through the window.

"Yesterday morning," Stiles started, swallowing hard past the tightness in his throat. "Cora came to my house when I was painting." He stopped, letting his words sink in, watching Derek's face as he opened and closed his mouth, frowned, and soon looked at him with disbelief.

"I'm telling you the absolute truth," Stiles went on, wringing his fingers. "She looked really bad. Ragged and thin. She was frantic, urging me to be careful, protect Taila, and to listen to you. And then she ran into the forest.

"I tried calling you, but then they came." Stiles paused, shuddering. Derek's face was ashen, but Stiles couldn't stop now, had to continue, get it all out. Damned if he was going to keep anything from Derek. Even if this was supposed to be a secret, he should've been treated better. "Have you heard about Nemeton? I think that was the word they used. And did you know there's a Department of Werewolf Affairs?"

Derek jumped up, overturning his chair as he stood, his body tight like he'd explode, but Stiles carried on, holding his palms up.

"McCall kidnapped me right after Cora fled, took me to the FBI training center downtown, but there's a secret pathway underground, and we ended up in the middle of the preserve, in something they called Nemeton. He was really out of it, made the others leave us alone in the interrogation room. He was so sure I knew about werewolves, from my work, from you or Cora, and he said he had ways to make me keep quiet about it. He told me he shot my dad, Derek! That he had been trying to kill both him and something called the liberation pack. Allison and Chris came bursting in, grabbed McCall, and then Allison showed me her office over the top of the trees!"

Derek stared at him like he thought _Stiles_ was delusional, and Stiles knew he'd think the same thing if it had been Derek telling the story.

"I'm telling the truth. I know it's hard to believe, and like you, I can't prove I'm right. I believe the department is a secret, and I'm supposed to sign papers, but I don't care if I'm breaking a law or whatever. I had to tell _you_!"

Derek sagged on the bench below the window, his face in his hands, and Stiles let him be, taking the time to sit back and think. "I want us to look for Cora," he said eventually. "She ran into the forest, and I'm thinking she must have a hiding place somewhere in the preserve."

Derek raised his head eventually, looking years older. "Stiles, I know this preserve like the inside of my pocket."

Stiles pinned him with his gaze. "But you didn't know what the building where Allison and Chris works really is, did you? There might be hiding places you've missed."

Derek groaned before seemingly pulling himself together. "Yeah, I suppose there could be. Technically," he finally admitted. "We need to go to the police with this information about Cora. Get them to help us look for her."

"I thought about that," Stiles said, "But I think we should try to look for her ourselves first. It seemed like she was hiding, and what if who she hides from is in contact with the police? And we lead them to her?"

Derek nodded thoughtfully.

Stiles looked out the window, trying to _think_. It was so frustrating with all the thoughts swirling in his mind, so many important things to deal with, when what he really wanted to do was bury himself in bed. He wouldn't be opposed to sharing that bed with Derek, and he supposed that was a step in the right direction. Another thing giving him energy to fight.

"Derek," he said, trying to think out loud. "All of these things—"

Derek interrupted him. "McCall. He told you he shot your father?"

"Yeah." Stiles nodded. "I think he was under the illusion that my father was responsible for him and Melissa breaking up, and he rambled on about my dad snooping around the center, and asking questions. Like the sheriff was about to find out werewolves existed." Stiles stopped there, considered how much to tell Derek about McCall. He should probably not let Derek know exactly how unstable McCall seemed, like he'd collected all these puzzles and twisted them to fit into his own picture. Whether he'd shot Stiles' dad or not, McCall had to be stopped, even if it was through prison or treatment—that was not up to Stiles to decide.

"Chris assured me they're taking care of him, but I'm not entirely sure he and Allison believed me when I told them what he'd admitted, though, so after talking to you, the first thing I planned to do was to contact Allison."

"And McCall said something about a pack? You know, werewolves stayed in packs until the day we became like humans."

Stiles nodded. "Yeah, the liberation pack?" He tried to get his brain to function. It was sort of like he had an important thought somewhere at the back of his brain, but so far it was playing hide and seek. "Can we make some coffee? I feel like crap today and I'm not at the top of my game."

"Sure." Derek stood up immediately, starting up the machine. Stiles let his eyes rest on Derek's back while the man moved around opening drawers, taking out cups. It was like a vacation for Stiles' eyes. Recess.

This gorgeous man, walking around the homey kitchen he'd rebuilt himself, was a werewolf—how weird was that! He looked like everybody else, as human as the next person, though not exactly like the average human. He was—

"Hey!" Stiles' brain was definitely not working properly today, unable to concentrate on one line of thought. "McCall knew about the patient who got me suspended, said he was a werewolf, and that was one of the reasons he believed I knew about your existence. He said he was going to force me into silence, because of my work—because of all the werewolves I might meet who're supposedly psychotic, and that I'm a threat to the department because I might help werewolves come in contact with each other."

Derek had stopped his movements and turned to Stiles, standing with a cup in his hand. "To help werewolves form packs?"

"Yeah!" Stiles felt suddenly eager, thinking they could be on to something. "But why would werewolves form packs now? And what could McCall possibly fear from them?" He deflated.

"Liberation?"

Stiles stared at Derek, his body going interchangeably hot and cold. He was never going to underestimate Derek's intellect. "He said there was a liberation pack here in Beacon Hills threatening the department, and he wanted them dead, or out of the way, or something!"

Derek came over to sit down at the table, an empty cup in his hand, gaze on Stiles.

Stiles leaned forward. "He feared they'd make the existence of werewolves public, like strength in numbers?"

Derek shook his head. "No one would believe them anyway. They wouldn't get anywhere with it."

Stiles sagged back in the chair, rubbing his eyes. "You're right."

Derek stood up again, finished the coffee, and set a cup in front of Stiles. "Thanks," Stiles mumbled, grabbing it greedily.

"You going to the police with McCall's admission?" Derek carefully sipped from his own coffee.

"Oh, yeah. I'm going to talk to Allison about it, and see what she says. But if she doesn't believe me, I'll go to Scott. Maybe he'd be able to get an admission out of his dad."

Derek set his cup down. "Do you think Scott knows about the department, and what Allison really does for work?"

Stiles shrugged, circling his finger on the top of his cup. "No idea. I'll call her later if she doesn't call me." He looked up at Derek, who was watching him over his cup. "If I can go back to the department and have a look around, or talk to her and Chris, do you want me to ask if you can come? I'll tell her right away you know what happened."

Derek set his cup down hard, making coffee slosh over the edge. He grabbed a napkin, drying his hand, his gaze on Stiles. "You'd do that?"

"Of course!"

Derek smiled faintly, scratching his scruff. "I can't imagine she'll agree, but I'd be grateful if you asked."

"No worries." Stiles rubbed his neck, stretching before placing his hands around his cup again. "I wanted to ask you something: now that I know Talia might be a werewolf, what should I do about it?"

Derek pulled the sleeves of his Henley up, showing his arms. When Stiles snapped his gaze up to Derek's again, Derek seemed unfazed about Stiles' ogling. "There's nothing you need to do. Talia is completely like you."

Stiles nodded, kind of relieved. "I hope I get the chance to tell Talia you're her uncle tonight, but first my dad needs to know."

Derek smiled warmly, the skin around his eyes wrinkling. "That'd be good. I can't wait to meet her for real."

Stiles' cup was empty, and he got up to place it in the sink, and Derek followed him out in the hall where Stiles slipped into his jacket. "Hey, do you know Ms. Blake?"

Derek leaned his hand against the wall, watching Stiles. "No, I don't think so?" He frowned, as if trying to place the name.

Stiles zipped up his jacket, pulling the hood of his sweater over it. "She's Talia's teacher, and McCall asked me if she was the one to tell me about werewolves' existence."

"Oh?" Derek came over to hold the door as Stiles went outside.

"Yeah, so I was wondering if she was a werewolf too, or if she just knew about them."

"I don't know," Derek said, following him out on the porch, before he took a step back. "Hold on, you forgot your running gear."

But Stiles stopped him. "No, they're still in my car." He turned to his car, but it wasn't there. "Oh crap. You drove me here."

"That's right!" Derek went into the hall again, pulling on his own shoes and jacket, grabbed his keys. "I was heading in to work now anyway. I'll drive you home right away."

"You sure?" Stiles watched Derek's face. "I'm not in a hurry."

Derek was already by his car. "No problem. I do actually have some business to catch up on."

Stiles slipped into the passenger seat. "I'm sorry I've kept you so much from your work."

Derek had his key in the ignition, but turned to Stiles as he twisted it. "I'm happy to help you, don't worry." He pulled the car out of the courtyard and on to the dirt road. "I must admit that when I saw Talia for the first time, it made it easy to decide to help you out."

Stiles laughed. "I got that."

Derek grinned at him, all white teeth. "I am _really_ glad I did though."

Stiles gulped thickly before he said, "Me too."

When Derek let go of the shifter and placed his hand over Stiles', Stiles immediately twisted his palm up, weaving their fingers together intimately, his pulse thundering, as he looked out of the window to hide the pleased smile on his face.

* * *

Home, Stiles went inside to his father to make them lunch, but Melissa was there already, lunch almost ready, and Stiles ate with them, considering what to tell them. He needed to talk to Allison first before he told them about McCall and the shooting. That was heavy stuff, and he didn't want to cause his dad more stress than necessary. It would be better to have more answers first to the questions that would inevitably come.

But one thing he could reveal.

He finished his meal before he dried his sweaty palms on his pants. "I've—" He cleared his throat. They both turned their faces to him, and he started over. "I have some news for you two."

Melissa and his dad both flicked their gaze to each other, and a wide grin spread on the woman's face. "It's official?"

"Sorry?" Stiles looked from his dad to Melissa, who shoved his arm.

"You know? About you and Derek?"

Stiles got a coughing fit. "What?"

His dad was looking at him like he wanted to roll his eyes.

"No." Stiles took a sip of his water, sat the glass down. "We're not together." He couldn't hide the faint smile on his face.

Melissa clapped her hands like a girl, clearly ignoring Stiles' denial. "I told you!" she said to the old sheriff, then she admitted, "But you thought so too."

"Hey, guys!" Stiles had to stop them before they made plans for their wedding, or something. "I don't know what's going on between us."

"But you want it to be something, right? We've both seen the way he's looking at you when your back's to him."

Stiles felt his chin heat up, and rubbed it to hide it. Derek looked at him? Like_ that_?

"Okay." He started over. "So, I have important news for you, and I know for sure you don't know about this, so just listen, please?" Stiles looked from his father to Melissa and back, even though his father couldn't say a thing, before he nodded.

"Derek and I have found out that Talia's mother is Derek's sister."

They were silent for seconds, and Stiles waited.

"What?" Melissa said after a second. "Derek's Talia's uncle?"

"Yes, he is. He's showed me a picture of his sister Cora, and I've showed him Talia's album of her mother. It's the same woman, but you know she called herself by another last name with us."

Melissa stood up. "I'm getting the album. I want to look at it again with a new set of eyes."

Stiles got up too. "You sit. I'll get it." He took the stairs two steps at the time, and opened the door to Talia's room. It was chaotic. He needed to clean it up later when he'd taken care of his own room. He opened the drawer in the nightstand where the album usually lay, but it wasn't there. He straightened up, looking around. Clothes were thrown all over the place, Talia's toys spread out on the floor. Soon he gave up and went down stairs again, empty-handed.

"I can't find it." He sat down at the table. "It's so messy up there, impossible to find anything."

Melissa looked at him. "She prefers her room neat, doesn't she?"

Stiles frowned. "Yeah, but have you seen my room? Sooner or later I'd rub off on her whether she likes it or not."

"Hm." Melissa puckered her mouth in disapproval.

"Oh, don't look at me like that," Stiles said. "I'll make her clean it up herself while I straighten mine, all right?"

Melissa smiled faintly. "Oh, I wasn't judging you. I was thinking it's very unlike her, right?"

Stiles shrugged. "I suppose so." He patted his stomach. "Are you finished here? I'll clean it up."

Melissa stopped him. "No, I'll do it. You should rest after you hit your head yesterday." She started clearing the table, and Stiles helped her.

"I'm fine. I promise."

She shooed him out of the kitchen, ordering, "Then go clean your room, young man!"

Stiles laughed and went out in the hall, grabbing his cell. "I'll do it later, Mel." He put on his painting shoes. "I'm going out to work on the house!"

"Okay!" Melissa called from the kitchen. He closed the door and went out to the backyard where all the painting equipment was, but he didn't open the can. He sat down on the bench, and called Allison.

* * *

Allison picked up at the second ring, breathing heavily into the phone, like she was walking quick. "Hey, Stiles. Sorry I haven't called you yet."

"That's all right, don't worry." Stiles got up to walk while he talked to her. "I have a lot of questions as I guess you can imagine."

"Yeah," she laughed. "I know."

"First, I need to know what's happening to McCall. I don't feel safe not knowing if he's free to come and go as he pleases, or what."

"Oh." She paused, and Stiles stopped walking under the apple tree. He kicked at a rotten fruit, sending it flying over to the garage.

"Stiles. I don't have any evidence on him."

So, it was like he'd feared, at the back of his mind.

She continued speaking in his ear. "You don't have to worry about him, though. I've talked to him."

"Allison. The two of us need to talk about this as soon as possible. He admitted he tried to kill my dad." Stiles spoke clearly into the phone, the way he'd do to get another doctor to take a look at a patient of his, and the other one needed to be persuaded. "He shot him. I can't let this go with you_ talking_ to McCall."

There was a silence. "No, and I'm not asking you to do that. I can't tell you what we're doing about it, you know that, but you have to trust me."

Stiles fisted his hand, punching out in the empty air. "I can't just put all my faith in you like that. I'm sorry, but I can't risk it. Neither my dad, Talia, nor I are safe as long as McCall's running about, doing what _he_ think is right. There's something wrong with him. If you don't believe he said he was the shooter, then you should trust me on my judgement to get him help!"

Allison said urgently. "Stiles, I do trust you. It's not that! Please. We have to speak face to face about this. But today is a bad day for it for me."

Stiles sighed. He had never been good with authorities, but he'd learned to keep his mouth shut. At least sometimes. "Fine" he said. "If I can't come there today, can I at least come tomorrow? And then I'm bringing Derek!"

"What? No, you can't bring him, Stiles! Have you told him?"

He didn't answer immediately, unsure what to say, and she continued before he could say anything. "Stiles! I thought I'd been clear yesterday. This is not official!"

"I know that!" he yelled, frustrated. "But I'm telling him everything, and I don't care that you want this kept a secret when it comes to him." He was by the fence, looking over at the forest outside of it, but not really seeing it.

Allison was quiet for a second. "So, you two. Are you a thing? You and Derek."

He sighed. "I don't know, Allison. But I have my reasons for telling him all right? I can't tell you why yet, but I will soon. Hopefully tomorrow."

"Okay." Her voice became softer. "I'd prefer it if we could talk somewhere else than here, but this whole situation is out of the ordinary. Can we agree that you come here tomorrow alone, but we'll discuss then if Derek will be allowed in at another point?"

"Fair enough." That was actually a better answer than Stiles had thought he'd get. Hopefully he'd get a chance to tell Talia tonight about Derek being her uncle, and he could tell Allison it tomorrow. He was pretty sure she'd understand why he'd told Derek about the department then. "And you can't blame me for having to talk to someone about this. I was kidnapped, McCall told me what he'd done to my dad, and I found out werewolves were real within a few hours."

"Yeah." She laughed into the phone, before he heard other voices there. "Stiles, I need to go. I'll send a car tomorrow morning, all right?"

"I'll be ready." He looked up at the sky, covering his eyes from the bright sunlight, listening to her hanging up. It had been a clear morning, but now gray clouds were coming in from all sides. As he stuffed his cell into his pocket, a crow flew up from the forest, cawing past Stiles.

He rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache approaching.

* * *

Stiles spent a couple of hours scraping the wall, but he was too exhausted to continue further, his head pounding. When heavy droplets started falling, he cleaned up and went inside to begin dinner. He'd promised Talia her favorite meal tonight, spaghetti with meatballs. And dessert. He needed to remember that.

He found a couple of painkillers in the kitchen cupboard, and checked up on his father who was taking a nap in his chair in the living room. Melissa was gone.

His headache loosened up while he cooked, and he felt excited about letting Talia know she had an uncle. He checked the time on his cell. It was about fifteen minutes since she should have been home. He called her up as he went into the living room. His father was awake now, and he told him their dinner was ready while Talia's phone rang, again and again.

He placed his cell down on the counter, trying to remember what he'd agreed to this morning before she left. Wasn't Nate supposed to come here with her? He didn't know if Nate had a cell phone. He tried calling Talia again, but she didn't pick up.

He checked the time. She was only twenty minutes late, and the two of them riding their bikes home together could take longer time if they stopped and played. He called Melissa to ask for Nate's number, but she told him he didn't have a phone and that she knew he was going over to them after school.

His father came into the kitchen, at his slow pace, and Stiles started readying his plate, which would take some time. As he placed it in front of his father, he said, "Talia should have been here about half an hour ago, and she's not answering her phone." He sat down at the table, watching his dad place his cane in the corner between the table and the wall.

"Do you have any idea why she's late?"

His dad pulled the notebook to him, and eventually wrote: _Playing?_

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking. They forget about dinner and everything when they're doing something fun."

His father grunted his affirmation, but let his plate be.

Half an hour later, Stiles had called school, Melissa again, Allison and Scott. He was about to go out to his car when Derek called him. Stiles told him he was going to look for the kids, and Derek said he'd come to help out. Melissa was coming over to the old sheriff, to be there to call Stiles if Talia came home while he was out.

He started his car and put it in reverse when his phone rang again.

An unknown number.

His pulse sped up as he pressed the button. "Hello?"

"Stilinski," a female voice wheezed in his ear, making his heart stop.

"Yes? Who's this?" His hand shook, and he held the phone in an iron grip.

"Give me Cora."

"What? Who's this?"

"Bring me Cora. You have one hour before I call back and tell you where to meet us."

"Meet us? Who's _we_?"

"I have your daughter, Stilinski. And I'm not giving her back before you give me Cora. One hour." The line went dead.

* * *

Thank you for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

Numb with shock, Stiles lost contact with his body for a moment, everything in him frozen, but then it was like something exploded in his diaphragm, and he went into full crisis mode. His hand shook over the car key, fumbled, but finally he managed to turn the engine off, push the door open, and fall out of the car.

Inwardly he chanted: "_Don't panic! Don't panic!_" Body shaking, legs unable to hold him up, he sagged against the car, vision blurry and mind clouded.

In his work, Stiles was the first one to jump into action in the acute situations, in face of danger. He shoved others out of the way, threw himself right in the middle of the problem. All of his senses sucked in the needed information automatically to get the full picture before he started throwing out prioritized orders.

Now he sank down on the gravel, his back sliding against the car wheel, desperately trying to get his brain to tell him what to do-to focus. He needed help. Right now! He was the one who had to be ordered around, but the driveway was empty, and his father sat inside, unable to call anyone.

Call anyone. Okay, if he was in charge, he'd call someone. He needed more people here, right now!

His thumb wouldn't cooperate, only fumbled with his cell, trying to punch his brain's orders, but after what felt like an eternity and back, he finally had Scott on the line.

"Talia's been kidnapped!" he cried, his voice raw. "Nate might be too!"

"Fuck, Stiles? What're you saying? Kidnapped?"

"YES!" he yelled in frustration, ripping at his hair. "A woman called me right now, said I had to give her Cora! She's going to call me back in one hour to tell me where to meet them! You need to help!"

"Are you still at home? I'm coming right now!"

The line went dead, but the simple action managed to shake Stiles out of his stupor and he got up from the ground and to the front door. He stumbled into the kitchen where his dad still sat, his plate not yet finished.

The old sheriff's spoon rattled to the floor at the sight of his son, sending food everywhere, and Stiles' knees went weak, panic overtaking him yet again.

* * *

Someone shook his shoulder, breaking his panic-induced haze, and he looked up. Derek. Derek was here to help him look for Talia.

"What's the matter?" Derek shouted, shaking Stiles' arm. "Why was the front door open? What's wrong? Didn't you find Talia?"

Stiles gasped, reaching out his hand for Derek to take, and Derek pulled him up. Stiles leaned against the wall for support, his breathing coming in quick gasps. His father sat on the kitchen chair, his face ashen.

"Yes! A woman called me and said she had Talia!"

Derek's face contorted in shock, then anger. Fury. "What?" he shouted, sweeping his arms out. "She's been kidnapped?"

"Yes!" Stiles cried, looking to his father. "She wanted Cora within one hour!"

"Cora? She wants Cora?" Derek's eyes went wide, his face flicking from Stiles to the old sheriff. "But we don't know where she is! Who the hell is this person?"

Stiles slammed his fist into the wall. "I don't know!" Pain radiated up to his shoulder and he instantly cradled his hand on his chest protectively.

"Okay, okay. Calm down," Derek urged, placing his hand on Stiles' shoulder.

"I don't want to calm down!" Stiles roared, shaking Derek's hand off. "Someone has my girl and I can't give her what she wants!"

Derek grabbed the front of Stiles' jacket, pulled him to his chest, and held him. "I know. I know. We'll figure it out!"

Stiles wanted to let all his control go, to let the world be and crawl inside himself, but Derek grabbed his face, forcing Stiles to meet his gaze. "Listen! We'll find her! We don't have much time, so we're going to do what we have to, right away! You hear me?"

Stiles nodded dumbly, glad someone told him what to do.

"First, have you called the police?" Derek asked, steering Stiles to sit down in a chair.

"Yeah, I've called Scott."

Derek nodded just as the front door slammed against the wall.

"Stiles!" Scott rushed into the kitchen, frantic. He froze for a second before he saw Stiles, and then grabbed him, shaking. "Where is he? Where's Nate?"

Derek went between them and Stiles sagged down in the chair again, as Derek held Scott. "Calm down! We don't know anything! A woman called him, saying she had Talia and wouldn't give her back until she got Cora. She's calling in about forty-five minutes. We don't know if she has Nate too."

Scott panted, like he'd run all the way from the police station. He gripped his hair, looking pained. "Fuck!"

Stiles hoped for all their sakes that Scott was able to keep a clear head. At least he had his phone out, and as he strode outside, Stiles could hear him spewing out words, his voice high, commanding.

Stiles pressed his hands under his armpits as if to protect himself, looking to his father, trying to think of anything that could help them find the kids. "Who can this woman be? Do you have any ideas?"

His father shook his head slightly.

"Okay!" Scott said from the door. "I have everyone going. Now we need clues." He turned a chair, sitting down on it back to front, his gaze jumping from person to person, knees jumping. "Anything unusual happened lately?"

Stiles flicked his gaze to Derek's, and he cleared his voice. "Yes, it has. Sort of."

Scott scraped his chair noisily to Stiles. "Oh?"

"Yeah, Cora came here yesterday, urging me to be careful. She looked awful, ragged."

Scott's eyebrows flew up in surprise. "Okay?" He looked from Stiles to Derek and back again. "I don't know much about what's happened to you the last years, but you mean Cora, Talia's mother?"

Stiles nodded, and Scott's gaze flickered to Derek again. "Derek?"

"We've discovered that Talia's mother is my missing sister."

"I'd be damned." Scott flapped back in his chair, hands on the backrest in front of him. "How long has it been since either of you've seen her?"

Stiles and Derek answered in unison. "Five years." "Twenty years."

Scott frowned, his fingers tapping his lip. "And the other day she came here to tell you to be careful. Careful of what?"

Stiles stared at him for a second, unsure if he should tell Scott that Scott's father had kidnapped him. He opened his mouth to say it, he'd say or do anything if there was a chance it could save his baby, but his father grunted, pushing at the notebook. _Album._

"You mean the photo album?"

His father grunted, and Stiles turned to Scott to explain. There was someone at the door, and as Allison came crashing in, Stiles said, "Talia's scrapbook album of her and Cora might be missing."

Stiles wasn't sure Scott heard him, because he had his hands full of his frantic girlfriend. He pulled her outside, explaining and yelling. Stiles could hear many voices from outside now, and he looked up to Derek.

"Can this have anything to do with McCall?" Stiles asked, glancing over at his father, who was still unaware of the agent kidnapping Stiles.

Derek followed his gaze over to the old sheriff, who grunted, half his face frowning, obviously wondering if it was something they didn't tell him. "But it was a female who called you, right?" Derek said.

Stiles sighed. "Yeah." He couldn't think of any clues to go after. He slapped his forehead—hard. Why couldn't his brain work perfectly all the time? "If the photo album is actually missing, why would anyone take it?" He paused. "Could it be the kidnapper?"

Melissa rushed into the room, closely followed by Chris, and they went straight for the old sheriff, Melissa only patting Stiles' shoulder on her way past him.

Stiles' gaze went to Derek, and the man gestured to the door. Stiles followed him outside where cars filled the driveway making Stiles groan in frustration. "Why're all these cars here? Everyone should be out looking!"

Derek squeezed his shoulder, looking him in the eye. "Where should they be looking?"

Stiles flapped his arms out. "I don't know! Looking for the kids' bikes, or something?" He twisted around, taking in the scene, his gaze darting everywhere.

"We could do that," Derek offered, cramming his hands in his jacket pockets, pressing the lapels together, his shoulders tight. "I'd much rather do something than sit and wait for the phone call."

Stiles sighed in relief, checking his phone. They had about thirty minutes left now. He looked around for Scott, found him with his arms around Allison by their car, and he strode over to them. "Hey, Derek and I will go looking for the kids' bikes."

Scott frowned at him, letting go of his girlfriend, drying his eyes. "I'd rather you stayed here, so we can hear what the woman says when she calls you."

"Oh, come on," Allison groaned, tugging her hand through her hair. Her braid loosened and the tie fell to the ground. "I want to search for them too! I can't stand waiting!"

Derek had his car keys ready in his hand, looking at Scott. "I'll call immediately when she contacts Stiles."

Allison pulled at Stiles' arm. "Okay, we're going. And we'll call straight away."

They got into Derek's truck, and as the car pulled out of the driveway, Scott stood looking after them, his arms hanging limp at his sides. Chris came out of the open door and went to stand beside him, his arm around the sheriff's shoulder.

Stiles rolled down his window, and placed his elbow on it, studying the sidewalk they drove past. "Let's drive over to school and go from there."

"Good plan," Allison agreed. "Scott can be so indecisive sometimes. I don't get how he can be the sheriff."

Stiles kept his gaze out the window, searching the side of the road. "Perhaps he's like me? I'm capable when I'm at work, but when it comes to my own kid, I lose my head."

She turned in the seat, giving him a quick, faint smile before turning back to look out the window too.

They didn't find any bikes by the road, and—after starting at the school—it didn't take long before they understood there were two ways the kids could have taken: the one straight home, on the sidewalk the way they'd come, or the path leading into the preserve. Derek stopped the car there, turning off the ignition, and they all jumped out immediately, looking into the forest.

"Is it safe to say that we should go in there?" Stiles jerked his thumb into the darkness.

Allison nodded. Stiles checked the time on his phone. They had about 15 minutes left. Derek closed the trunk of his car and handed Stiles an aluminium bat. Stiles looked quizzically at him.

"Just take it." Derek patted his pocket. "I have my knife, and Allison's armed, I presume?"

Allison smiled faintly and strode into the darkness, the men at her heels.

* * *

Stiles followed after Allison as she almost ran, looking left and right, and he asked her, "Hey, do you think this has anything to do with werewolves? Or McCall?"

She stumbled forward as she turned for a second to look at him. "Why do you say that?" She searched beside a tree, bending under the lowest branches.

"I don't know," Stiles said, using the bat to poke in the undergrowth. "I'm trying to find our kids."

"Hey, guys!" Derek's voice came from behind a broad tree trunk, and they sprinted over to him. Derek had found the kids' bikes, lying clearly visible on the path—no attempt had been made to hide them.

Allison sniffed, hugging her own stomach. "Fuck! I had a tiny hope she didn't have Nate too." Stiles hugged her tight. "Sorry," she mumbled into his jacket, and he hugged her harder, but quickly dried his eyes, letting her go.

Derek went in a wide circle around the bikes, studying them from afar. "We'll not let this bitch win! We'll find them!"

Stiles twisted, studying the area. "What's around here, Derek?" But it was Allison who answered.

"Only the old distillery. What?" she asked when both the men looked at her, her palms out. "You both know what I do for a living, and my office is right atop of the whole preserve, you know."

Stiles checked his phone again. "Not long now." Derek and Allison came closer. "What do I say to her?"

"Tell her you have Cora," Allison said resolutely, her face set.

"Why?" Stiles stared at her.

She stared back, eyebrows raised. "If you tell her you don't have any way of finding Cora, we don't know what she'll do to our kids, but if we get to meet her, we can take her." She patted her jacket where her gun was, Stiles presumed.

"Let's hope she's not very intelligent, then." Stiles sighed, highly doubting the kidnapper hadn't already thought of this. He held his phone up, waiting, his hand shaking.

Then the unknown number called.

"Hello?" he croaked into the phone, his voice not following his will.

"Do you have Cora?" the woman snapped.

Stiles was glad they had talked about what he should say, so he was prepared and answered instantly, without hesitation. "Yes."

The woman breathed out into the phone. "Good. We'll meet in the abandoned distillery in the preserve. You've got fifteen minutes." She hung up.

"Fuck! We're almost there." Stiles stared down at his phone, like it could give him more information. "What if she'd seen us and caught us out on the lie?"

Derek had Scott on the phone already, telling him what the woman had said, and he soon handed his phone to Allison. "He wants to talk to you."

As Allison was on the phone, Stiles caught Derek's gaze, anxiously shifting his weight from foot to foot, sick with worry. "What do we do when she realizes we don't have Cora?"

Derek searched Stiles' face, put his hand at the back of Stiles' neck, fingers sliding up in his hair, and Stiles sagged against the man's shoulder, trying hard to hold in his sob, desperately keeping it together. "We'll find Talia, no matter." Derek's voice rumbled in his chest.

"Okay, boys." Allison finished talking to Scott, her expression determined, clenched. "Let's go."

* * *

The abandoned distillery looked like a warehouse; a rusty and rickety building after years and years of neglect. Steps hesitant, they approached the sliding doors at the front. Stiles wasn't quite sure if he wanted to _enter_; it looked ready to fall down over their heads. His gaze jumped around, taking everything in, looking for danger. "I hope she doesn't have the kids in _there_," he whispered.

Allison shook her head, gaze on the door, body tense. She had one hand on her back, and Stiles thought she held it over her gun.

Something moved by the door, and Derek went in between Stiles and Allison, his hands out and eyes on the door, stopping them both from going further.

A woman stepped out. Long gray hair in a bun, body slim for her age, like she kept in shape.

"Ms. Blake?" Stiles couldn't believe his eyes. "What are _you_ doing here?"

The woman scowled at him, eyes shooting daggers. "I told you to bring Cora, Stilinski! You said you had her, but here you come, no Cora and these two useless lackeys instead."

Derek growled, taking a step towards her, but Ms. Blake held up her palms, exasperated. "Just drop it, Hale. You're not a werewolf anymore!" Derek faltered, looking dumbstruck. "Oh, don't you underestimate me. If you harm a hair on my head, the kids are toast!"

Stiles gripped the back of Derek's jacket, trying to hold him back. The woman saw it and cackled, pointing at Derek. "I bet you wish you were still a werewolf now!"

Then she turned her attention to Stiles. "And you! Bringing the department into this? What the hell were you thinking? Don't you want your werecub back?"

Allison roared, "Ten wild horses couldn't hold me away! You have my son! Why did you have to take the kids?"

Ms. Blake took a step towards them, leaning forward, fists clenched by her thighs. "Because I won't stop for anything to get rid of the liberation pack! When they were the alpha pack twenty years ago, I searched for them, looking for a chance to get my revenge over Kali. To kill the werewolf who killed her pack to become an alpha, doing anything to gain her power. She used to be mine, but then Duke took her away from me."

"Kali?" Allison said, looking like she'd been slapped. "The nail designer?"

"Yes, you stupid girl!" Ms. Blake sneered, looking irritated at being interrupted, like she'd waited an eternity to tell her story to an audience. "Then, out of the blue, werewolves appeared as humans and the pack lost all the power they'd worked so hard for. I could have killed them all, but Cora found the lost group, connecting them once again in her search for answers for what made werewolves seem human. They found their leader in her, as she became a physics scientist over the years, the brain amongst them, planning and researching. And they followed her like lost puppies, looking at her as their Messiah, giving them hope to get back their abilities—the monsters they once were.

"Now there's not many of them left. Kali I've got rid off, and Ennis, and Duke ran away after McCall's little stunt. Aidan and Ethan have given up, living their lives like they have actually become humans, integrated in this town. But Cora, she's still going strong. And we can't have that!"

She smiled at Stiles, her eyes flashing. "When Talia showed up in class, telling us all about her lost mother, I knew I had the leverage to make Cora succumb. Thank you for bringing the photo album, Stilinski! I couldn't be sure until I had those photos." She pointed her finger to him, her arm shaking. "And don't you for a second think you can lie to me. I know you can give me Cora."

"But I don't know where she is!" Stiles yelled, frustration clouding his judgement, and he could feel Allison set her eyes in him.

"That won't be a problem, Stilinski." Ms. Blake let out a high laughing sound, staring at the forest behind them, and Stiles turned to see what she was looking at. The woman was completely out of it. The tale she told about Cora was obviously bogus. But out of the forest, a thin shape appeared, hair in knots and dirty, wearing loose-hanging clothes.

"Cora!" Derek let out a broken sound, like a wounded animal, and Stiles knew how he felt, because this shadow of what Cora once was could never be a threat to anyone.

He wanted to run to her, hold her and do everything in his power to get her back to her old self. A whimper escaped his throat, and he grabbed Derek's hand, holding them both back from the figure steadily approaching.

"Is it me you want, Jen?" Cora's voice was surprisingly strong for such a thin frame. "What are you doing? Killing kids now? You pathetic bitch!" She screamed the last words, running to the older woman and making them both fall over, her fists hitting the woman's face with accumulated fury.

Stiles tried to run towards them, but Derek held him back by his jacket, holding tight as Stiles tried to shake him off. Then a shot resounded in the forest, and everyone froze.

McCall came forward, gun pointing to the two women on the ground. "Everyone freeze, or I'll kill them both!"

Cora scrambled back from Ms. Blake who sat up, brushing her clothes, fixing her hair. "Thank you," she said, standing up.

"Oh, I meant you too, Jen!" McCall sneered, coming up close to Allison.

"What?" Ms. Blake looked surprised. "You wouldn't hurt _me_!"

"Don't you get it? You've attacked _me_ by kidnapping my grandchild!"

She looked bewildered at the agent. "I don't care about the kids, they were only a means to an end. It's Cora I want! Give her to me, and I'll tell you where the kids are this instant!"

McCall stepped closer to her. "I thought we both worked for the same cause: To prevent monsters from walking this Earth!"

"We do, baby!" Ms. Blake stepped closer to McCall.

_Baby?_ Stiles shuddered.

"You've betrayed me, Jen." McCall pointed his glock straight at her, cocking it. "Tell me where my grandchild is and I'll let you live!"

Ms. Blake cackled, sneering at him. "Do you think I'd go to this extent without taking precautions? You kill me and you'll never see them again!"

McCall took the last step towards her, the gun right in front of her chest. Stiles held his breath, and jumped when there was a yell from the forest.

"Dad!"

The trigger went off, the shot ringing.

For a second, Ms. Blake stood still, stunned, before she fell backwards, and McCall stared down at the gun in his hand, mouth hanging open in shock. Allison and Scott were over him instantly, securing the weapon.

Stiles only had eyes for the creature who had crawled backwards to the door of the building, eyes dark and wide, and he rushed over to Cora, Derek by his side as they knelt beside her and held her.

There was a lot of yelling and footsteps all around them, but Cora quickly pushed the men away, rising up. "Talia! We need to find the kids!"

"Allison!" Stiles called, seeing her hunched over the dying woman. "The kids!"

Allison quickly whipped her face to Stiles, shaking her head at him. Fearing the worst, Stiles approached the horrific scene. Allison pulled off her own jacket and carefully covered Ms. Blake's face and upper body with it, her slow movement telling him that the woman was dead.

"Shit," he muttered, rubbing his forehead, before looking over the area. McCall wore handcuffs beside a policeman, Scott was on the phone, gesturing frantically, and Derek stood behind his sister, holding her tiny shoulders. Stiles went to Allison, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Hey."

She stood up, her expression grim. "She whispered the name of the department building. Over and over. On her last outbreath."

Derek and Cora came over to their sides, looking as frustrated as Stiles felt.

"What did she mean by that?" Stiles couldn't stand the thought of their kids being alone and afraid for a second longer. What if Ms. Blake had hurt them? What if they didn't find them in time? No, he refused to let his thoughts take that route.

Cora asked, her tone urgent, "Mean by what?" looking from Stiles to Allison and shoving her hair out of her eyes.

"Ms. Blake said Nemeton," Stiles explained, and before he even finished saying the name, Cora sprinted over to the trees. "I might know where they are," she yelled as she ran.

Stiles ran after her, quickly by her heels. He could feel others behind him as they raced through the trees. He pushed branches away from his faces, feeling his clothes being ripped on thorns. Soon Cora slowed down to a walking pace and an open clearing appeared.

Stiles panted beside her as they approached an old tree stump, covered with moss and uncountable growth rings. On the other side of it was a root cellar with a rotten door. Derek came up on their side and ripped the door open, crumbling it.

There didn't seem to be any stairs. "Talia?" Cora called, bending down to look into the dim light, struggling to find anything to hold on to that didn't crumble under her fingers.

Sniffs or low coughs. "Yes?" A frail voice sounded down in the dark.

Frantically, Stiles looked around. An officer wearing a belt with different things hanging from it was there amongst the others. "Anyone have a flash light?"

"Never mind a flashlight!" Cora sputtered, reaching out her hand to Derek. "Hold me!" Derek grabbed her wrist and she quickly crawled down.

"Careful!" Allison urged, but hung over the edge, ready to follow Cora's example.

There was a low thump, then, "Mommy?"

Stiles, Derek and Allison all jumped down. Tied to a pole were Talia and Nate, clothes dirty and faces grimed from tears. Derek pulled out his knife, cutting the ropes, and then Talia was in Cora's arms, crying. "Mommy! You came for me! I always knew you'd come and rescue me!"

* * *

Thank you for reading!


	9. Chapter 9

This is the last regular chapter. Only an epilogue left :)

* * *

Stiles slammed his car door closed in front of Derek's house, holding his hand out for Talia to take, her body close to his side immediately. Right now, he couldn't imagine himself letting her go, ever again.

"Mommy will be here. Right, Dad?" She looked up at him, her face grave and eyes wide.

"Yes, she will." Stiles stroked her chin. If he didn't know for certain that Derek wouldn't let his sister out of his sight, Stiles would be as insecure about Cora's promises as Talia was. "The doctor at the hospital said she was well enough to go home."

Talia nodded precociously, before she frowned. "But she should come home to us." She twisted around, taking in the house and the clearing. "Why's she with Derek?"

The front door opened as they approached, and the man in question stepped out on the porch, looking as nervous as Stiles had ever seen him. Stiles tried to smile reassuringly at him, but he wasn't sure he succeeded; he felt as nervous as Derek looked.

"Let's go inside and talk, baby." Stiles led Talia inside, and as they passed, Derek's fingers brushed against Stiles', light as a feather. Stiles held his gaze firmly on Talia as they took off their shoes and jackets, and followed Derek into the kitchen, his heart beating wildly.

Cora sat on the bench under the window, her frame just as flimsy as before, but now she was clean, wearing clothes without holes in them, and her hair was brushed back in a ponytail. She smiled faintly, watching them approach. Talia kept close to Stiles, her grip on his hand firm, her gaze on her mother.

Stiles sat down in a chair by the table, to one side of Cora, and while Derek busied himself with fixing them something to drink, Talia slipped into Stiles' lap. Cora didn't take her eyes off of Talia, and the girl squirmed against Stiles. He stroked her arms, holding her, and when Derek sat a fruit platter on the table, he reached for it so that Talia could help herself, distracting her.

Talia was on her second slice of apple when Stiles reached for his coffee cup. "Baby, can you sit down on the bench?" he asked her softly. "I don't want to spill on you."

Her gaze flicked to Cora, who smiled at her, scooting further away. "Okay," Talia agreed, hesitating for a second, but slipped down from Stiles' lap and sat up on the bench. Stiles pushed the platter towards her again, and she picked up a slice of orange.

Stiles leaned his elbows on the table, looking at Talia. "Baby, when we came here, you asked why Mommy's staying at Derek's house." He cast a glance to Derek and Cora; they were focused on Talia too. "That's because Derek is your mom's brother."

"Oh." Talia's gaze snapped up to Derek, darting over him, checking him out for a second before she shrugged. "Okay."

From the corner of his eye, Stiles saw Derek breathing out, and Stiles took a sip from his cup, waiting to see if she'd say more. When she reached for some grapes, Stiles continued. "Derek and I found out just a few days ago that he's your uncle. Can you guess how?"

She shook her head, hair falling over her shoulders as she plucked out the seeds in her grape.

Derek shifted in his seat. "You look a lot like your mother, and the first time I saw you, when I came to check your house, I thought I saw Cora as a little girl again."

Talia grinned, casting a cautious look sideways to her mother.

Cora smiled softly at her, telling her daughter, "But you have grandmother Talia's eyes, just like Uncle Derek." She placed her hand, palm up, carefully on the bench between them. Talia caught her movement and stared at her mother's hand for a second before she placed the fruit she had in her hand on the table, dried her palm on her pants, and twined their fingers together between them.

Tears were streaming down Cora's face and her mouth was wobbly. When Talia saw it, she started crying, letting out a low sob before she crawled up in her mother's lap. Stiles slipped onto the bench, and held them both.

"Fuck," Derek muttered, and sat down beside Cora, holding them all.

* * *

Cora combed her fingers through her daughter's unruly hair while Talia lay on the bench beside her, her head in her mother's lap. The girl yawned widely, rubbing her eye before she let her hand down. Her eyes closed. Unsurprisingly, she'd been sleeping a lot the last two days, her body needing to digest everything that had happened to her peacefully in the land of dreams.

"Ms. Blake told a fantastic story about you at the distillery, Cora." Stiles swirled the remaining cold liquid around in his cup, looking down at it. "She said you've been working to get your powers back your whole grown up life, searching for answers to why they disappeared and how to get them back."

He looked up at her, curious, and also a little anxious about how she'd react to the woman's accusations. They'd seemed unbelievable when he heard them, a desperate woman's wild talk, but at night, when he'd been lying in bed and trying to sleep, it all fit.

Cora nodded, her hand in her daughter's hair going still for a second before she continued stroking.

Derek leaned back, folding his arms over his chest, scowling. "Can you please explain to us why she'd say that?"

Cora seemingly swallowed hard, staring at her hand in Talia's hair before she looked up, meeting her big brother's gaze stubbornly. "Because they're true."

Stiles closed his mouth with a snap, his teeth clicking.

"What?" Derek said a little too loudly, staring hard at Cora. Stiles flicked his gaze down to Talia. Her mouth was slack, her breathing even.

Cora looked anywhere but at her brother's face. "I was staying with this pack down in San Diego when we suddenly one day woke up and all our senses were dull. You know what I mean." She cast Derek a quick glance. "None of the werewolves in the pack could change, and as the days passed, most of the others panicked. Their alpha became completely out of control, biting people with her human teeth, and causing a blood bath. I had to get out of there, and find out what'd happened."

Derek looked pained. "Couldn't you come find me? I was here in Beacon Hills then. Just as lost as you."

Cora pinned his gaze. "I knew you'd be happy about this new life, glad to get rid of the werewolf part of yourself. You'd make yourself a life as a human, and try to find a way to stop me."

"Of course I'd have stopped you!" Derek's gaze was dark as he leaned forward. "Just look at yourself. I'm surprised you're still alive!"

Tears started running down Cora's face, her whole body stiff. "I know, all right? Don't you think it's been hard for me?"

Stiles scoffed, not believing she could be so selfish. "Hard? For you?"

Cora's gaze met his before she averted her eyes, guiltily, looking down at her kid, her voice low. "I knew you'd take good care of her, Stiles. I trusted you with my life."

Stiles sighed. "What you seem to forget is that after this—" he gestured to their child "—it wasn't about you or me, or anything else anymore. It was about _her_ feelings. You've prioritized your own interest before the mental health of the daughter you were responsible for."

Cora wiped her tears away, angrily. "This cause is greater than a single individual."

"But what have you achieved after all these years?" Derek flipped his hand, gesturing to his body. "We're still like this, people have been killed, and a certain someone is growing up always waiting for you."

"It's not my fault people are dead. You can blame Ms. Blake and McCall for that." Cora whipped her face to Stiles. "And our daughter seems pretty healthy, if you ask me."

Stiles wanted to throw _No thanks to you_ in her face, but held his words back. Instead of arguing about the past and bad choices, he looked to the future, how to fix this. "What are you going to do now?"

Cora dragged her palms down her cheeks, looking bone-tired. "For a long time I've known that I needed to change my tactics. I haven't come any further for a long time. Not when I've needed to spend so much of my energy just trying to stay alive."

"You're staying here from now on." Derek's tone brooked no argument. "This is just as much your house as mine. And I don't care if you look for answers to the meaning of life or what ever, as long as you start to take care of yourself and keep safe."

"Yeah," Stiles agreed, leaning forward to grab Cora's hand, sensing that this was one of the most important moments in their lives. "Please, whatever you do, don't run away again."

Cora squeezed Stiles' hand back, red around the eyes, but her gaze firm. "I promise you that I won't."

* * *

Stiles got out of the car, coming up beside Derek to look up at the sign above the entrance. Through the glass door, he could see Allison approaching.

_Nous protegeons ceux qui ne peuvent pas se protegereux-memes_

"Do you know what it says?" he asked Derek, tilting his head back to take in the whole front of the building. It was made of all natural materials, from what he could see.

Derek shook his head, shifting his feet. "No idea."

Allison grinned when she saw them on the other side of the glass as she came to open the door for them. "Welcome to Nemeton, gentlemen."

"Thank you." Stiles stepped past her, followed by Derek, into the open reception area where he stopped and looked around. The area was just as inviting as the floor Allison's office was on. He couldn't remember if he'd gone out this way when he'd been here a couple of weeks ago.

"Thank you for having us." He smiled at her, knowing full well he was lucky to be here again, and the chance of Derek—a werewolf!—being welcomed as a visitor was small. He supposed she'd agreed, with no questions asked, because she felt guilty.

She gave them a firm nod, gesturing to the elevator. "Let's go up to my office, shall we?"

Inside the elevator, Stiles felt Derek tense up, and he let his fingers find Derek's beside him. His hand was warm, accepting Stiles' like he was his anchor in a crazy world. "Relax. It's not like we'll see deformed werewolves in tanks like Ripley in _Alien_, or anything." Stiles tried to make it a joke, but the truth was that he had no idea what to expect. His voice was a little rough when he tried to form a laugh, and he asked Allison, "Right?"

"Stiles." She rolled her eyes at him. "You're making it worse for him!" She patted Derek's shoulder. "Nothing to be nervous about, I promise." Stiles smiled gratefully at her.

The elevator pinged and the doors opened to the familiar, light corridor. Stiles followed Allison out of the car, and grinned back at Derek, who still held his hand. "See? Totally harmless."

Derek looked uncertain, but Stiles only shook his head at him. Derek stopped outside Allison's office to read the name plate. "You're the boss here?"

She turned to him from where she was rearranging chairs. "Sure am. Ever since my grandfather retired years ago, I've steered this ship with a firm hand. Added my personal touch to it, if you'd like." She winked at them, gesturing to the chairs for them to sit down.

Stiles sat down in the one second closest to the window and jerked his thumb to the chair at his side. "You should sit there, Derek," he said, looking up at the nervous werewolf. As Derek slipped in past him, his gaze went to the sight through the window, and he sank down on the edge of the chair, all his focus on the view. Stiles patted his back, smiling softly at Allison.

Allison sat down in the chair opposite them. "Spectacular, isn't it?"

Derek hummed, not taking his eyes off the preserve for a minute. Allison gestured to the cheese she had on a platter in the middle of the small table, cups and napkins at each seat.

"What do you want to drink?" She grabbed the jug of water and started filling their glasses.

Stiles flicked his eyes to the coffee maker. "I'd love some of what I got the last time. I don't think I tasted much of it to be honest, but I seem to remember it was something good."

Allison got up, laughing. "It was a dramatic day for you." She picked up Stiles' cup and started the machine, which gave a low rumble. As she placed the cup in front of him, Stiles gave her Derek's cup. He knew the man liked coffee, and he wanted him to enjoy the view before they came to the heavy stuff.

Chris knocked on the door, and they all turned to him.

"Hi, Dad, there you are." Allison gestured to the last chair. "Close the door, will you?"

The man smiled at them and fixed himself a cup, obviously experienced with the coffee maker, before he sat down beside his daughter.

"So," she started. "Let's talk while we eat, all right? I haven't had any lunch yet."

Stiles took a slice of blue cheese.

"You should try it with this." Chris handed Stiles a small glass container.

Stiles studied it. "What's this?" He opened the lid and sniffed it.

Allison laughed, holding her hand in front of her mouth to prevent crumbs from falling out. "It's not poison."

Stiles mock-glared at her. "You sure about that?"

"Just try it," Chris urged. "It's good." He took the container from Stiles and smeared some of the contents on his own blue cheese, then popped it into his mouth.

"It's honey with walnuts." Derek smiled softly at Stiles, then looked over the platter and chose a thick slice of chorizo.

"So, you have enough funding, I see." Stiles pointed to the food, saying it lightly, not wanting to offend.

Allison smiled faintly at him while she finished chewing. "We have important guests today."

Derek sipped at his water, gazing at the woman over his glass. "We have a lot of questions, but I'm not sure if you'll answer any of them."

Chris put his cup down. "I'm sure you know a lot of the history already, Derek, but for Stiles' sake, I'll tell you some."

Derek nodded gravely.

Stiles leaned back in his chair, his napkin filled with food in his lap. "Awesome!"

"For as long as we've known, werewolves have existed—" Chris started, but Derek interrupted.

"And hunters."

Chris nodded. "And hunters. Though, I'd prefer to call us werewolf police."

Derek scoffed, even though Stiles remembered the man had used the same expression when he told Stiles about werewolves.

"Yeah, I agree with you Derek," Allison said, through a cracker. "The right word has been _hunters_ for as long as we've known, but I hope we've changed that in the last couple of decades."

"Anyway," Chris continued, drying his mouth with his napkin, "just as werewolves have lived in packs, hunters have more often than not, inherited their families' profession over the generations, so in some ways I guess you could call it human packs.

"There's been a lot of bad decisions, I'll be the first one to admit that, but some have been out of necessity." His gaze was on Stiles. "I'm sure you can imagine the humanity's need to protect themselves from uncontrolled creatures, with powers many times a measly human being's: senses twenty times ours and muscles equal to ten grown men."

Stiles agreed easily, picking up another slice of blue cheese and dipping it in the honey. This was good!

"The problem was hunters attacking werewolves who were trying to live normal lives." Allison sighed. "I don't even want to think about all the horrific happenings from World War Two, with the experimenting the Nazis did on werewolves in the concentration camps."

Derek pinned her with his gaze. "You are the leader of Department of Werewolves Affairs, and you refuse to acknowledge what your predecessors did?"

Chris held up his palms. "Hold on."

Allison said, "It's not like that!"

"Let me speak, please." Chris looked pointedly from his daughter to Derek. "Stiles, I'm sure you've heard about what other experiments took place during that war, so I think you can imagine what happened to werewolves."

Stiles shuddered, crumbling his napkin in his fist. "Yeah."

"Anyway, we got a lot of refuge werewolves here in the US back then, and we've worked hard to find a way—a humane way, if you like—to prevent werewolves from potentially hurting humans, and finally, about twenty years ago, we succeeded." Chris nodded to Derek. "As I'm sure Derek here has already told you."

Stiles observed the father and daughter for a second. It all made perfect sense, and he was quite sure this was the truth. "So, why the whole secrecy?"

Chris stared at him, looking taken aback. "Uhm, I'd presume you'd understand, being a psychiatrist and all?"

Stiles shrugged. "Of course. I mean despite the obvious?"

"I'm sure you can imagine what would happen if the existence of werewolves became common knowledge," Chris said, frowning.

"I don't like unnecessary secrets."

"Not even for the greater good?"

Stiles sighed, casting a glance over at Derek. The man was happy with his new life, content with getting rid of what he'd told Stiles had often felt like a burden, especially after his family had died simply because they were werewolves. He placed his hand on top of Derek's. "I suppose they're okay in that case," he finally admitted.

Chris' gaze flicked down to their joined hands, before he smiled at them. "If we were to go out in the media, give the world hard evidence—"

"Could you do that?" Derek interrupted, but Chris pressed on.

"What do you think would happen? Nothing good, that's for sure."

"So." Stiles decided this was a good place to ask the most important question of them all. "What makes werewolves seem human? What's the thing you're doing to them?"

Chris and Allison shared a look, like they'd expected this, as they ought to have. "I can't tell you that, Stiles." Allison nodded at Derek and Stiles' joined hands. "Look at Cora, your boyfriend's sister. She's worked for many years, sacrificing a normal life and removing herself from her daughter's, for this. I can't let you have the burden of knowing and not being able to tell her."

Both Stiles and Derek groaned, and meeting each other's gaze, the corner of Derek's mouth curled up slightly. "I don't need to know."

Stiles jerked his head. "Okay. There's your answer." He met Allison's eyes, who smiled softly at him, relieved.

"Are you sure whatever it is you're doing will continue to work?" Derek flexed his hand, spreading out his fingers. Stiles wondered what he'd looked like as a werewolf.

Chris hummed, confident. "I'm positive. We haven't had any problems in these twenty years."

A thought occurred to Stiles. "What made werewolves become werewolves in the first place?"

Allison had her answer ready, knowing her work. "It's a genetic defect." She flicked her eyes at Derek. "Sorry."

Derek shook his head. "None taken. I agree that werewolves are a defect."

"It's a mutation, actually." Allison corrected herself, placing her foot under her thigh.

Stiles hummed, thinking. "A dominant mutation." He paused. "What prevents the mutation from mutating again? Since it's so strong?"

Allison smiled at him, a little indulgent. "It won't. You mentioned funding earlier. Let me just say that we have enough for the needed research."

Stiles let it go. He had another question on his agenda. The second most important one. "McCall. What happens to him?"

Allison's face fell. "I am so sorry about that whole thing, Stiles. I should have listened to you from the start, and I'm deeply sorry I didn't. I know you'd never lie or make up those kind of accusations. Even after all the misunderstandings and hurt between you and Scott, we both love you."

"Yeah. I know that." Stiles swallowed hard. "But I need to know about McCall."

She nodded, her mouth curling up at the side. "He will not be a free man for a very long time. I'm not allowed to say anything about this to you, but I will tell you one thing: if you decide to stay in Beacon Hills with Talia—" she cast a glance over at Derek, who stiffened beside Stiles "—then you can't continue your profession in the ward of your first choice for a while."

Stiles stared at her for a second before it clicked. "Ah. Okay. That's good to know, because it could have become a problem." He squeezed Derek's hand. "I have plans to look for something else to do here while I wait for the trial and the Board's decision on my licence. After that, if I'm still allowed to work as a doctor, I'd probably look for a position at Beacon Memorial."

The brilliant smile Derek sent him, made Stiles' whole body burst out in goosebumps. Without thinking about their audience, he leaned close to Derek, and placed a quick kiss on his mouth.

When he leaned back in his chair, Allison grinned from ear to ear, looking like she wanted to high-five him or something. "I know two men who'll be very pleased to hear that. Three men, on closer thought." She lifted her hand, spreading her fingers in a wave, like she was about to count the people.

Chris laughed, taking down her hand. "I know Melissa and I are happy to hear it. And we wish you all the luck with the Board."

Stiles smiled at him. "Thanks."

* * *

There were numerous legal papers to sign before they were escorted out to the waiting black car, but finally they were on their way home.

"So," Stiles said, grinning at Derek. "You're my boyfriend now?"

Derek's gaze became instantly soft as it flicked between Stiles' eyes and down to his mouth. "Yes?"

Stiles couldn't stop himself, but attacked Derek's mouth, the man's hand coming to the back of Stiles' head instantly, holding him there as they kissed hungrily. Derek's lips felt so good against his own, and Stiles felt himself get carried away right from the start. "Shit."

Derek lifted their joined fingers up to his mouth, with wet lips kissing the back of Stiles' hand. "Do you wanna come back to my house? Cora's taking Talia to the library after school."

Stiles checked his watch. Plenty of time. "Yes, I'd like that."

Derek leaned forward to tell their driver his address, and they soon came up in front of his house, the sky clear blue and the sun right above them.

"Thanks for the drive!" Stiles jumped out as soon as the car came to a halt. Derek unlocked his front door and they slipped inside, having no time to wait for the car to drive away.

Stiles leaned against the door, closing it with his weight, his gaze trained on Derek as they slipped out of their jackets and shoes. The dark blue jeans his boyfriend wore clung to his form in the most delicious way, and Stiles couldn't wait to peel them off him.

Derek caught his gaze, before it traveled down Stiles' form. The expression on his face when he was at the top again, made Stiles' legs feel like they did after a day up on the ladder: wobbly. Stepping into Stiles' personal space, Derek's eyes flicked between Stiles' and down to his mouth, making him buzz with energy, vibrating, his brain clouding over. He placed a palm over the man's chest. Mm, firm.

Derek lay his hand over Stiles'. "You really want this?" he asked, voice sounding vulnerable and raw.

"Yes. Can you please kiss me now?" Stiles breathed, light-headed. Derek was all he could see, smell, feel. His own skin tingled all over, and he had no idea what to do with this body, feeling like after a growth spurt, all gangly and uncoordinated, unsure of where he started and ended.

But then Derek leaned in the last inch, and Stiles knew himself again.

Derek rubbed his nose slowly up beside Stiles', oh, so carefully brushing their lips against each other, their breaths mingling. Stiles sagged against the door, and Derek placed his palm against it beside Stiles' head, the other holding his hip, containing him.

"Hng." Stiles felt like a wreck with anticipation and needy.

"Shh," Derek soothed, his breath washing over Stiles' face. "It'll be so good. I can tell."

Stiles moaned, and just then Derek pressed his mouth to his, silencing him, kissing hungrily, lips and tongue and spit and … Stiles dug his fingers into Derek's hair, needing them to be as close as possible, tilted his head as the kiss became urgent, filthy, his boyfriend's stubble scraping over Stiles'.

He groaned out loud, dizzy with need, his hands clutching at Derek's shoulders as the man gripped Stiles' hip bones. His fingers pressed lower, down to Stiles' butt where he dug in and lifted Stiles up while their lips continued working hungrily together.

Stiles pressed his feet to Derek's behind, grinding against him, right where he needed it. "God!" he gasped, head swimming as Derek pressed him harder against the door to hold him up. Stiles tilted his head and his neck was instantly attacked greedily, Derek's answering groan echoing in his chest. Stiles held onto the man's wide shoulders, feeling the warmth from his skin through the layers of clothing.

"Fuck!" Derek gasped into Stiles' neck, holding still for a second. Stiles had just enough time to start worrying there was something wrong when Derek let go of him and grabbed his hand, leading him up the stairs, to the floor Stiles had yet to see.

He didn't see much of it now either, because he was instantly led inside an open door which Derek shut with a kick of his foot. He led Stiles backwards to his bed where he pushed Stiles down, standing before him.

Stiles breathed heavily as Derek gave him a slow once-over, gaze dark and intense. Fuck, he was so sexy. Stiles' pants were uncomfortably tight at the front with his need, but when he tried to adjust himself, Derek fell to his knees, hands over Stiles' fingers immediately.

"No, let me."

"Oh." Stiles gripped Derek's hair and bent down to kiss him, urgent and with no finesse as the man made quick work of Stiles' pants with one hand, the other buried in Stiles' hair. Derek leaned back as he hooked his fingertips over the waistband of Stiles' briefs, hesitating. Stiles nodded frantically. "Yeah, please."

Groaning, Derek's heated gaze was on what his hands were doing as he pulled Stiles' dick free, making it slap against his stomach, leaving a wet spot in the strip of hair there. "Fuck, yeah." Derek leaned in and licked Stiles' hard-on from the bottom to the tip with the broad of his tongue, making Stiles shiver, his world-view tilting.

"Oh God! Oh yeah, just like that." Stiles fell back on his elbows, panting, gripping the comforter to try to center himself, unable to take his eyes off Derek's mouth. Shit! He needed to get a grip, or he'd come in a second, uncontrolled and desperate like a teenager on hormone overdrive.

Derek looked up at him, eyes dark and hooded. "This what you want?" He didn't take his gaze from Stiles' as he wet his lips and sucked the head of Stiles' dick into his warm mouth, swirling his tongue around it, and Stiles brain shut off.

Derek pulled back, leaving Stiles' red cock-head shiny with spit before Derek engulfed him again, lips wide and swollen from the kissing, and took Stiles all the way down to the root. Stiles threw his head back, pulling at the fabric in his hands even harder, trying not to buck his hips up. Derek seemed to sense Stiles had been on the brink of coming from the second Derek fell on his knees, desperate, and he did the same motion again and again, unrelenting.

Stiles fell back on the mattress, unable to hold it together, his orgasm hurtling through his body. He arched his back like a bow as he came, whimpering, spurt after spurt. All his energy seeped out along with his body fluids as he quaked with aftershocks. When he could finally open his eyes to look at Derek, the man sat back on his feet between Stiles' legs, eyes intense and dark.

"Sorry," Stiles rasped. He cleared his voice. "That was embarrassing."

Derek's gaze flared with warmth, didn't yield from Stiles' as he started stroking up and down Stiles' thighs. "Don't you know I care about you?" Stiles opened his mouth, but his words were lost.

Derek kissed the insides of Stiles' thighs, turning from one leg to the other, stopping beside the base of his now softened dick, and licked the sensitive skin on his lower abdomen. Stiles shuddered as Derek repeated the motion on the other side. He crawled up on the mattress between Stiles' legs, bending to kiss from Stiles' navel and up his chest, tongue flicking over each of his pebbled nipples, sending sparks down Stiles' sides, and he gasped, arching his neck. "Fuck."

"Yeah." Derek buried his face in Stiles' neck, slipping his knee between Stiles', making him feel how hard he was. Stiles groaned, turning his face to seek out his boyfriend's mouth while skating his fingers up Derek's arm, over his shoulder and down his back where Stiles held tight as he rolled himself on top.

Leaning on his elbows on either side of Derek's head, Stiles rolled his hips experimentally between the man's legs. Derek gasped, and Stiles wanted to kiss him again, but instead he said, "What do you want?" Derek felt so good under him; he'd give him anything.

Derek's eyes darted between Stiles', like he wasn't sure if he should say what he wanted.

"You wanna fuck me?" Stiles said, and was on his back again before he knew it, Derek leaning over him to rummage through the nightstand drawer.

Stiles grinned, stretching himself. "I'll take that as a yes, then."

Derek straightened up, rolled his condom on, and opened the lube. "Damn straight it is."

Stiles planted his feet on the mattress, knees apart. "Awesome."

"I'll show you awesome," Derek growled, wiggling his lube-covered fingers.

Stiles felt lax and sluggish, but his tongue still worked. "You're such a charmer, do you know that?"

"I'll work on the charming thing later. Now I want to fuck you."

"Bring it on!" Stiles grabbed his own balls, holding them away for Derek's fingers. His laughter got stuck in his throat though, as Derek slipped them inside, twisting his hand to curl his fingers upwards. "Ah!"

"God damn," Derek gritted, like he was the one having half a hand stuck up his ass. "Relax!"

Stiles tried to uncurl his toes, holding out his arms. "Then come here and kiss me." Derek lay down over him instantly and Stiles grabbed the opportunity to touch him at once. "Mmm, you feel so good," he moaned into Derek's mouth.

Derek's fingers retreated and steered his dick in the right place, the _oh-so-right place_, both of them groaning when his cock-head slipped through Stiles' ring muscle.

The hazel-colored iris in Derek's eyes disappeared to merely a thin ring around the black pupil. "Shit, Stiles! I'm glad you came like a teenager, so I don't embarrass myself too much."

Stiles tried to slap Derek's shoulder, but ended up just grabbing him—he'd touch him at any chance he got. "Fuck!" His head swam, and he couldn't think of anything else than the heady feeling of having Derek inside him.

Derek sat up on his knees, lifting Stiles' legs to watch himself pump in and out, slowing down then speeding up again. Sweat began to gather on his forehead. He glanced up to Stiles' face, mouth slack and looking gorgeous. "Is it good?"

"Hng! So good." Stiles' dick had began to harden again, his body seemed set on behaving like a teenager when it came to Derek. He started jerking himself slow, in long pulls, but Derek let go of one of Stiles' legs and slapped his hand away, taking over. "God damn!" Stiles gasped. Derek pressing on the inside and jerking him at the same time; it was so good, but the thought that this was Derek doing it to him made it feel fantastic.

"Shit!" Derek gasped, let go of Stiles' dick and fell down on his elbows beside Stiles' head, boxing him in with his arms, his face in Stiles' hair. He rolled his hips in uncoordinated jerks, breathing heavily in Stiles' ear, and Stiles met every thrust until the man stiffened and jerked his hips hard against Stiles, shuddering into the condom as he came, a rough cry in Stiles' ear.

Stiles bucked his hips, seeking friction against the lax body, and Derek rolled to the side, his softening dick slipping out. Stiles sat up over Derek's crotch instantly, jerking himself in long pulls.

"Yeah, that's it," Derek groaned, eyes trained on Stiles' movement, hands coming up to caress Stiles' chest. The expression on his boyfriend's face—the intimacy and openness he showed—was the hottest thing Stiles had ever seen, and he came in long spurts over Derek's chest, up onto his neck, and fell over him, completely exhausted.

He slipped down on the side of Derek, seeking out his mouth, and kissing sloppily, while Derek held him.

Stiles flopped over on his back, his arm bouncing against the mattress. "Oh, wow!"

Derek turned his face, looking beat but happy. "Yeah."

Stiles grinned. "That wasn't too bad for a first time together." He curled himself up against Derek's side, but stopped when he got his arm full of jizz. "Do we have enough time for a shower?"

Derek turned to his nightstand. "I don't know what time it is. My cell's in my jeans on the floor."

Stiles groaned. "I don't wanna get up!"

Derek kissed his forehead and crawled out of bed, searching for his phone in the heap of clothes on the floor. "It's time to make dinner soon, but we have time for a quick shower."

"Awesome." Stiles grinned dopily at him. "I'll see if I can get my jelly legs to follow my orders."

Derek froze, still holding his phone in his hand as he studied Stiles absentmindedly.

Stiles stared at him. "What?"

Derek shook his head, smiling. "Nothing. I still get this feeling, or reflex, sometimes to do as I would have done when I was a werewolf."

"Oh?" Stiles got up on his knees on the mattress, scooting closer to the edge, towards Derek.

Derek turned, his back to Stiles. "Yeah, I wanted to throw you over my shoulder to carry you to the bathroom like a sack of potatoes. Obviously, I don't have the strength anymore, but I can carry you on my back if you're too weak to stand anytime soon."

Stiles slapped Derek's shoulder, wanting to show him weak, but climbed up on his back, clinging to him and grinning like a kid on a rollercoaster. Derek staggered to the bathroom as Stiles laughed, then set him down on the mat and turned on the shower. Stiles studied his face. "Do you miss it? Having all these powers?"

"No." Derek shook his head as he pulled out clean towels from the cabinet under the sink. "I'd probably be dead by now."

Stiles stepped into the shower, feeling the warm water against his skin. "Come on, I want to soap you up."

Derek smiled softly at him, and stepped under the spray with him.

* * *

Cora and Talia came home not long after, when Stiles and Derek sat down in the kitchen, and Stiles took Talia home to his dad to make dinner for them. When he opened the front door though, sweet fumes came from the kitchen, making his mouth water.

"Hey," Melissa called from the kitchen. "Dinner's ready in a few minutes."

Stiles peeked his head inside seeing his dad sitting by the table. "Mmm, it smells delicious." Melissa smiled at him. "Do I have time to make a quick phone call?"

Melissa stirred the pot, adding spices. "Sure."

"Okay, thanks!" Stiles went outside, closing the door after him and pressed the call button while he rounded the corner to the backyard.

"Stiles."

"Hey, Lyds." He studied the walls, two down, two to go. "I'm calling to talk to you about Derek Hale."

"Ah, yes, our werewolf man."

Stiles could hear on her tone that she smiled into the phone. "Yeah." He kept his tone light. "I just wanted to let you know that as far as I can tell, he's completely sane. I'm not sure what your nurse heard. Could Derek have been reading from a book to his uncle or something?"

Lydia sighed. "I have no idea, but it doesn't matter; I trust you, of course."

"Thanks." Stiles didn't feel any guilt; he was merely protecting what was his. "I should tell you though, that Derek is now my boyfriend."

"Oh! Okay, congratulations!" Lydia's voice sounded happy for him. "How's the suspension going?"

Stiles sighed, taking a look into the garage where all the equipment stood. It was utter chaos now, ever since Derek had withdrawn himself from the project when he saw Stiles could do most of it on his own. "It's still standing, but I'm working on it. Thank you for helping me get going, I'm not sure what I would've done without you."

"Ha! You'd managed just fine! You needed a push, that's all."

Stiles grinned, combing his fingers through his still wet hair. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, I guess."

"You're welcome! So, I have a question for you."

"Oh, no. What is it you want my help with now?"

"Nothing like Derek. I'm wondering if you'd consider taking my job for a few months after I've given birth to the baby?"

That made Stiles stop, looking up at the sky. "That would depend on the Board's decision on my license."

"But you'd consider it? Now that you have a boyfriend here in addition to your dad, you're considering to stay?"

There were gray clouds coming from all sides up in the sky, but Stiles smiled. It was typical weather for the fall, only meaning that summer took a break for now, hibernating. "Yeah, Talia and I don't have anything keeping us in San Francisco. Everything we care about is here."

"Good! You let me know when you get your license back."

Stiles had to smile at her belief in him. "I promise to keep you posted."

"Great! I have to go now. There's work to be done and a nursery to decorate."

Stiles laughed at her. "Sounds perfect for you."

He tucked his cell in his pocket. It started a light drizzle as he walked over to the front door. He stopped for a second before he went inside to eat with his family, and let the droplets fall on his face.

* * *

Thank you for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

**Some months later:**

Stiles wore his black plug for an hour before he took it out in the shower. It had been a tiring, long day and he felt like sleeping for hours, but his mind still spun with all the impressions and he wanted Derek to help him calm down. He went into the bedroom naked, only a towel wrapped around his hips in case he bumped into Cora on his way through the hall. Derek lay in bed, reading a book, wearing his glasses and with the bedside lamp lit.

When Stiles closed the bedroom door, Derek looked over the rim of his glasses, and directed his smoldering gaze at Stiles. Stiles waited as his boyfriend lay his book on the nightstand, taking an agonizingly long time to place his bookmark in before he turned back to Stiles.

Stiles gave him the towel and opened the nightstand drawer, handing Derek the lube. "Place the towel under your hips?"

Derek lifted his pelvis, doing as Stiles told him, then looking expectantly at Stiles. "This for me?" He shook the lube.

"Yeah, coat yourself?" Stiles' voice was hoarse with anticipation, gaze glued to Derek's movements as the man squeezed the liquid out in his hand, jerking his dick with it. Derek was half hard when he dried his hand on the towel. Stiles had been hard on and off ever since his journey home earlier, thinking about what he wanted to do when he was finally in Derek's bed.

He got up on the mattress on his knee. "Scoot over." Derek lifted his hips to the middle of the bed, dragged his pillow to him, before he looked up, gulping thickly. Stiles placed one knee on each side of Derek's hips, braced himself with one hand on Derek's chest, the other one he used to grip his boyfriend's cock from behind, and steered it to his hole. The head of Derek's dick slipped easily inside, and Stiles moaned as he arched his back, grabbing his balls so Derek could have a perfect view.

Both men let out a long groan as Stiles sat down, buried to the hilt on Derek's cock.

Stiles opened his eyes to meet Derek's heated gaze. His boyfriend's eyes were dark and hooded, his mouth slack, and a heady feeling came like a whip in his diaphragm at the sight. His own face felt like it had the exact same expression; want and need. Derek's cock felt so good inside him, but seeing what it did to the man, how much he loved what Stiles did, was the hottest thing ever.

"Fuck, Der, you feel so good!" he groaned, lifting up on his knees before sinking down again. Derek's warm hands came to rest on Stiles' chest, roamed around and up to his shoulders where they settled.

"Hold on," Derek said, and started fucking Stiles, pressing his hips up and up and up, making Stiles fall forward, grabbing the headboard. Derek's cock sent sparks shooting all through his body, making euphoria spread, all of him tingling.

"Oh yeah, oh yeah," he chanted, watching Derek biting his lip, concentrating, his dark gaze glued to Stiles'. "Missed you so much."

It became too much, too soon, and Stiles let go of the headboard, straightened his back and started jerking himself off as he rode. Derek's gaze darted all over Stiles' body, taking in all of him, drinking him in, watching the head of Stiles' dick emerging in front of the circle of his thumb and index finger again and again.

"Wanna see you come," Derek whispered, "I've been thinking about it."

Stiles whimpered pathetically, leaking precome all over his own hand, and onto Derek's stomach, coating his happy trail with it. Derek gasped as Stiles' movements became erratic and he arched his back like a bow, his orgasm hitting him like a punch in the gut, making him hunch over.

Stiles' whole body sang when he came to himself, sagging down onto Derek's come-covered chest. He buried his face in Derek's neck as the man grabbed his asscheeks, racing to his own end, coming deep inside Stiles, groaning right in Stiles' ear.

Stiles' body was covered in goosebumps so he took the effort to pull the covers over them before he snuggled up against Derek, whose hand came up to stroke Stiles' hair.

"How did it go?" Derek mumbled against his forehead.

Stiles cleared his voice. "I already told you. He was convicted of murder and sent to prison, but given a clean bill of mental health. The fact that he acted in self-defence and the proof that his father had abused both him and his mother for a very long time took away a lot of his years in prison, though."

Derek hummed. "I'm glad."

"Oh, and my boss called me earlier practically begging for me to come back now that I'm all cleared. I told her I loved my job there, but my place is now here in Beacon Hills."

Derek looked down, searching for Stiles' gaze. "Will you talk to your dad soon, then, about you all moving in here?"

Stiles smiled softly. "I'll do it tomorrow."

Derek smiled back, stroking Stiles' hair again. "Tell him I'll make my office downstairs his bedroom, if he wants it."

Stiles yawned, his jaw cracking. "Perfect." He snuggled his face into the crook of Derek's neck, feeling sleep approach when his whole body jerked. "I saw something weird today. When Lahey was guided out of the courtroom by the guards, he turned, looking back at me right before the door closed behind him. And—I don't know how to describe it exactly, but it seemed like his regular blue eyes flickered with gold? It must have been a trick of the light, right?"

The End

* * *

Thank you for reading!


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